Lucky Girl
by DaerenDydear
Summary: Dire circumstances have forced Bella into a world of illegal alcohol smuggling and dangerous men. Luckily for her, that's the least of her problems.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Dire circumstances have forced Bella into a world of illegal alcohol smuggling and evil men. Luckily for her, that's the least of her problems.

 **Sensitive subject matter involves discussion of an attempted rape of a teenager and violence.**

Beta: Belynda Smith, thank you for your amazing input. I heart you.

This first chapter was created for the "We 3 Mobward" contest. I can't even begin to express my gratitude to all the readers and reviewers. Thank you so much.

 **Disclaimer:** All things Twilight belong solely to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended

It was an unusually hot spring in Chicago. Officials had issued a heat warning, advising everyone to drink as much water as possible. You would think that wouldn't be such a difficult thing, seeing as we were all officially under Prohibition, but it was only noon and I'd already witnessed several very happy associates full of giggle juice, staggering out of the building.

A bead of sweat ran down the back of my neck and pooled at the collar of my button-up dress as I shifted in my seat, trying to keep the afternoon sun from shining directly into my eyeballs. My stockings were sticking to my legs, and the new flowers that had appeared mysteriously on my desk were already beginning to wilt: white roses, my favorite.

The lone fan in the room was only serving to blow around heated, smoky air, leaving an acrid taste in my mouth that was making me feel nauseated. I coughed as softly as possible, struggling to focus on using the typewriter in front of me and cursing to myself silently as my damp fingers continually slipped off the keys. One of my jobs - other than asking no specific questions, taking coded notes, keeping my records neat and vague - was to not anger the Cullens' clients or associates. I wasn't certain if Mr. Torrin would be offended if I told him that I didn't like his cigar smoke, but I wasn't taking any chances.

A long, exasperated groan overpowered the background noise of the fan, and I glanced covertly at the man sitting a few feet away from my desk. Normally a cocky bastard - who spent his time waiting to be called into Mr. Cullen's office by lying on the plush sofa napping, leaving muddy footprints on the velvet - today he looked to be all nerves. His bright blue eyes were repeatedly scanning back and forth across the room and he kept fidgeting with his hands, moving his cigar from one palm to the next.

I'd always been very good at reading people; until this job, my ability had kept me out of trouble for a very long time. When I'd first met Edward Cullen, my boss, I could tell that he was dangerous and powerful, but the kindness that he'd shown _me_ \- a random nobody - made me feel an odd sense of security. I was somewhat fearful of him, but oddly, something inside me wanted to trust him.

From the first moment I'd set eyes on Mr. James Torrin, however, I knew that something about him was very _off_. Wrong. To be blunt, he made my skin crawl. Considering I worked with vagrants, thieves, murderers, liars, and sharks all day long, that was really saying something.

Being nearly homeless on the streets with nothing to show for your name tends to make a person less picky about the jobs they take.

When the stock market crashed two years ago, things went bad for everyone: from the banker, to the drug store clerk, to the farmer. Every day on my way to work, I passed people in the city who were begging for food, coins, anything to keep them going one more day. The only people who were doing well were very specific, powerful men who used the new laws to their advantage. As it turned out, Americans didn't want to be told that they couldn't drink.

I was never really told flat-out what type of business we ran here, but based on ledgers and forms from the Cullens' previous assistant (who I'd never had the courage to ask about, but kept very sloppy, incriminating notes), I knew that the Cullens specialized in transporting a certain Mr. John Barleycorn from the barrel house to his favorite gin mills and juice joints all over Chicago and the surrounding area. They'd been doing it a very long time, very successfully. The speakeasy properties that they held were thriving. The many restaurants that they owned in the city masked the illegal activity literally going on beneath the surface. Many of their establishments had hidden rooms and basements to keep their alcohol from nosy, prying eyes. It was how regular patrons could have something brown slipped into their iced teas and no one would know.

As the daughter of a former cop, my conscience nagged me daily, because my own moral code was slipping. As was part of my job description, I turned a blind eye to anything that I found that might look incriminating. And I was pleasant to the clients, even when I found them horribly revolting.

I was lucky that Mr. Cullen had found me that day; looking unkempt, bedraggled, desperately in need of a bath and food, and hopping from shop to shop begging for work.

He'd told me I had an honest face.

I was lucky.

I reminded myself of that fact all day long, every day: when I woke up in my nice apartment that had inexplicably come as one of the perks of the job, when I had food to eat, when I had clean clothes to put on, when I walked out of my house and could pay for a train ticket. I reminded myself of it most often, though, when I was at work.

When I had to write ledgers in code to protect my boss in the event that the police ever came in wanting to see the books.

When Mr. Cullen asked me to take a note that was clearly going to result in another person ending up dead before the end of the day.

When I let the fear take control, knowing that if I make a mistake it would likely result in my disappearance, and another young girl would take my place and my apartment and my job with my wilted flowers.

Despite the heat of the room, a cold chill ran down my spine.

"How much longer is he going to make me wait, doll? I been here for over an hour already. I have things to see, people to do." He leered at me, and I caught a glint of a gold tooth. I hid my disgust behind a wide smile and forced my voice to a light, pleasant tone.

"It will just be another moment, I'm sure, Mr. Torrin. Would you like a glass of water while you wait?"

He grinned wickedly and my smile faltered. "I'll take whatever you want to offer, Baby."

As gracefully as I could, and doing my best to not give Torrin a full view of my rear, I grabbed a glass from the table nearby and filled it with water. He grabbed my wrist as I handed it to him.

"Listen, I'm having a really bad day." He yanked me closer to him and his coat fell open. The handle of a gun gleamed in the bright sunlight coming through the windows. "How's about you and me scram and go have some fun somewhere else?" He reached around me and grabbed my backside.

I jerked back quickly, nearly falling over on my stupid high heels, making me even more furious at the shocking situation that I was suddenly in. My actions resulted in laughter from the goon in front of me. I wanted to rear back and slug him. I wanted to go find a place to hide and have a good cry. I knew that either of those reactions would end my job here at Cullen Corporation - and possibly my life - so I forced my feelings deep and planted a fake smile on my face instead, telling myself that if a random grab was offensive, that I'd still been living a very sheltered life, indeed.

I could have found a much worse job than this. I could be working the streets, lying flat on my back with someone like Torrin on top of me.

I was lucky.

Creating as much distance as possible, I politely extricated myself from his reach and sat back down in my chair, welcoming the bright sun over the darkness that I'd just been far too close to. I thought it odd, though, once I'd finally situated myself again at my desk, that he'd never tried anything like that before.

"I guess I must not be in as much hot water as I thought," he said, seemingly to himself.

I gave a puzzled look to the keys of my typewriter, but said nothing to him. I continued to transcribe the shorthand dictation that I'd taken earlier in the day, careful to keep each stray number and symbol that Mr. Cullen had spoken incorporated. I found myself hoping that he would dictate a letter regarding Mr. Torrin no longer being in his employ, and immediately worried that my soul was becoming as corrupt as the business that I worked for.

The intercommunication phone on my desk rang loudly, making me jump. I picked it up quickly. "You can bring Mr. Torrin in now, Bella," said the smooth, deep voice on the other end. My face flushed at his informal use of my name. "Please bring a notepad and pen in with you."

James Torrin came in to speak to Mr. Cullen every other Friday, but this was the first time I'd been asked to join them.

"Yes, Mr. Cullen. Right away. Mr. Torrin, he'll see you now," I said as I quickly grabbed my things, held open the door, and filed into the office behind him.

The office of Mr. Edward Cullen was very small and inauspicious. The bare wooden floors, furnishings, and even the photos on the wall looked to belong to an everyday, middle-class man. Nothing was so nice it appeared odd. Nothing was so shabby it appeared a farce. To the random, untrained eye, there would be no sign anywhere that would cause anyone to see anything other than an ordinary businessman, in an ordinary office, in an ordinary building. I had often wondered if there was a swanky office somewhere else, or if his apartment was a ritzy penthouse full of baubles and art pieces, with plush wall-to-wall carpeting.

I nodded briefly at the two other men in the room; Mr. Cullen's bodyguards. Described as "handyworkers," they wore normal laborer's clothes and stayed around the office all day, every day. Occasionally, they'd actually repair things, but normally they stayed in Mr. Cullen's office. On one occasion, when his door wasn't properly closed, I could hear them insulting each other and laughing. I'd taken a liking to them.

I'd caught Jasper following me home one dark evening that I'd been required to work late, presumably to keep me safe. I had a suspicion that he did it often, but that he was only seen when he wanted to be. On that particular evening, the sky was overcast and dark, and even though I'm a grown woman, I'm quite fearful of the dark.

Jasper frowned at me as I walked past him into the office, as if he could sense my upset. Of course he could; it was probably written all over my face.

Still reeling and angry from the audacity of the hoodlum in the room with us, I bit my bottom lip hard and sat down, quickly crossing my legs. I could feel eyes on me before Mr. Cullen began to speak, and I distracted myself with my notebook, flipping to a clean page, poised to write. It took me longer than it should have to notice the tension in the room.

"Mr. Torrin, from this moment forward, you are no longer in the service of our employment."

My pen slipped on the page and I fought to refrain from looking at either man, struggling to remain invisible.

Mr. Cullen's voice remained even as he spoke again, but I could feel a sense a wrongness about it. "Come on, James, you really don't want to do that."

I glanced up to see Torrin holding a pistol, aimed straight at Cullen's heart. My own heart started beating quickly as I held my breath. With wide eyes, I glanced from one man to the next and then to the bodyguards, who both had their pistols pointed at Torrin's head. Startled and afraid, my eyes sought out Mr. Cullen to my left who looked calm, as if this were a normal meeting. His lips even curled up in a slight smirk as he said, "Put the gun away and we'll just pretend that this didn't happen."

"So you can ruin me? I don't think so. I want to speak to Carlisle."

Edward's smirk quickly turned into a sneer as he said, "If you were meeting with Carlisle, you'd be dead already."

My hand froze as I looked back and forth between both men, unsure of what my role was at this point. Was he going to kill my boss? Was he going to kill me? I briefly wondered, hysterically, if I should be writing all of this down. My hands and knees began to shake uncontrollably. Edward looked past Torrin to one of his men. "Emmett, will you please take Ms. Swan downstairs?"

"No one's going anywhere!" James screamed, waving the gun around at everyone and no one, his behavior quickly becoming volatile and erratic. "Especially not your little tomato. You know, I think she's stuck on me." Edward didn't react, but his eyes shifted over to me for a split second as James continued to yell.

"I don't know what your people think they saw, but you're not destroying my career! Do you hear me? I am not going down like this. I did everything you people ever asked me to do! I've played it straight!"

Edward's lips raised in a sneer, "Until you attacked my little sister."

"She's a liar. She went from being a baby vamp to being a bluenose in five seconds, but I never touched that little bitch."

Edward's glance changed from calm to murderous as it all became clear. My eyes flicked to my boss' desk and the photo that he kept there. I'd noticed it before as being a family photo, but in my effort to remain as uninvolved with my boss' personal life as possible, I'd never actually paid attention to it. The standard black-and-white portrait was of a smart-looking family, all dressed in white except for the men, who wore pinstripes and dark hats. There were two girls: Rose, his oldest sister who sometimes visited the office, and the younger one who was obviously little Mary Alice. I balked at the image of her. She was clearly still a child who couldn't be older than fourteen or fifteen. My nose wrinkled in disgust.

Emmett and Jasper glared at Torrin, their savage expressions marring their normally handsome features. In that instant they looked more like demons than men - but their reactions were nothing to Edward's quiet, deadly glare. He made no move. He seemed unnaturally calm, but his green eyes were terrifying. Torrin noticed it, and he began to sputter and back-peddle.

"You know Aro isn't gonna be very happy about this. Mr. Cullen - Edward, you know I'd never do anything to upset our arrangement. We have a sweet deal, you and me. Why would I mess it up on a piece of-"

A loud sound, like the crack of thunder encased the room, reverberating across the walls. I squealed, bringing my knees up against my chest, clamping my hands over my ears, the notepad and pen falling to the floor.

A dark spot of blood appeared on the chest of James Torrin, blooming ever larger against the white of his shirt. The hysterical thought that James Torrin would need to be fitted for his Chicago overcoat today after all went through my mind. Then the room lost its color in a seemingly unending moment of horror, as he finally lost his balance and fell face first onto the floor with a thud. I could no longer hear anything but the sound of ringing in my ears, my own heavy breathing and rapidly beating heart. Time seemed to stand still as the three other men in the room looked at the dying man in disgust. Emmett spat on his back.

Edward was standing now, a black revolver in his hand. His men quickly took it from him, using their handkerchiefs to wipe off the prints. When they were done, they threw it in a case along with Torrin's gun, and quickly moved into the waiting room, randomly throwing things into boxes. Jasper and Emmett rapidly emptied the office of specific paperwork: any evidence that would link them to the man now lying dead on the floor in front of me.

Some small part of my mind wanted to protest at the mess that they were making of my workspace. The vase of flowers was lying sideways across the desk, several were being crushed under the feet of the men who were making arrangements for the body and talking over police bribes with the normalcy of discussing the weather. White roses: the only pure thing left in the office. I heard a small PLOOF as a box of paper went up in flames. My chest and my stomach heaved as one, as though my body was fighting for air and also fighting to force up my lunch.

The sound of my name brought my brain somewhat into focus and I watched Mr. Cullen as he wiped the dark stain of gunpowder from his hands. He knelt before me, completely blocking my view of the body, his eyes looking up into mine. There was a weary sadness in them as he reached around his neck, pulling a silver chain that I had never noticed from beneath his white starched collar. He unclasped it and took my shaking hand in his, turning it upward. A small pendant and chain slowly pooled into my palm, the cold metal distracting and comforting me.

For the first time I noticed the feel of wetness on my cheeks and the heat of the air had returned to the room as I looked down at his gift. It was a small oval, bearing the Cullen crest which surrounded a small flower in bloom; a white rose.

"I'm sorry, Bella," he said, his voice steady and soft, and I suddenly recognized this for what it was: an initiation of sorts, my induction into a dark and deadly world. I blinked more tears from my eyes as I looked at him, the man I desperately wanted to trust but was also desperately terrified of. It was my choice now, to decide if I was going to continue to work for them, or if I was going to take the other option which would result in me never working again.

"One thing you need to understand is that in this family, we defend each other. We protect each other at all costs. Family is everything."

He removed his hand from mine and placed it on the arm of my chair. I was shocked when he leaned forward and kissed my forehead.

"Welcome to the family."


	2. Chapter 2

**I just want to thank all of you for the many follows and favorites and reviews. This whole experience has been so encouraging. I'm humbled by it all. Thank you so much.**

 **This chapter was edited by Frannie Walsh and BeLynda Smith. Thank you, ladies.**

 **I'm kind of in love with these characters, but they're not mine. Thank you to Stephanie Meyer who allows us all to play pretend with her beautiful creation.**

James Torrin's body was not yet cold, his lifeless form was still lying in a puddle of blood that was slowly leaking into the floorboards when Mr. Cullen clasped the pendant around my neck. The feel of his warm gentle fingers ghosting against my skin sent a shiver down my spine. His face was far too close, as were his arms as he reached around me.

And I was afraid to move.

I was afraid to breathe.

I was afraid to live.

I was afraid to die.

An eerie quiet surrounded us as he let go of the chain and the pendant fell heavily against my chest, over my heart, hanging like a shackle. I was bound to them now, no longer my own person.

He gave me no new instructions or direction, simply staring up at me with a look of sadness that I didn't understand. I was the one who was being forced into a life I didn't want. For the first time since I'd met him, I regretted the day that he'd found me in the street.

"Please, call me Edward."

He quietly stood, helping me walk around the body. The smell of blood hung heavily in the air, and I held my breath and clenched my teeth, trying not to vomit. As soon as he removed his hands from my shoulders, I moved to the far end of the room, as far away from all of them as possible, and watched like a frightened caged animal while they talked in hushed whispers.

The scales had tipped, and I was more fearful of the man than I had ever been before.

Jasper was instructed to take me home. He followed me to my apartment building, then up to the fourth-floor walk up, and I barely heard his softly spoken words as I numbly whispered half-hearted thanks and closed the door. As soon as the deadbolt clicked into place, it all hit me like a ton of bricks. I fell into a heap on the floor, where I mourned for my life, for my father, for the family of the dead man (lowlife that he was), for my future. I cried until I had no tears left.

Until I felt empty.

Dead.

Dead as James Torrin.

That night, once I'd finally fallen to sleep with every light blazing, my usual nightmares were riddled with images of blue-eyed men with bloody chests.

"Bella, would you come in with Mr. McCarthy, please?"

I waited longer than was necessary to answer the page, taking a moment to first calm the quaking in my knees.

I had gotten good at pretending that everything was normal. My hands only shook slightly when I walked into his office to take notes, and I was able to walk over the hardwood floor without a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was slowly becoming acclimated to the idea that I worked in an office building where someone had been shot to death.

God help my soul.

"Right away, Mr. Cullen."

Taking a deep breath, I gathered my courage and my pen and walked into his office.

"Call me Edward," he'd said. It was a request that I had a very difficult time obeying. The thought of being in any way familiar with the man made my face flame red and my heart race.

I walked meekly into his office and crossed my legs over my seat as I usually did. Mr. McCarthy followed me in, his countenance just as agitated as James Torrin's, though he did a better job of hiding it.

My knowledge of what they were all capable of was the only thing that seemed to have changed in my job description, which made me wonder why they had given me the information to begin with. Each new client that walked through the door sent a fresh wave of panic over me, and I wondered, as I wrote down meticulous notes of the meeting, how many men I would have to watch die.

I breathed a sigh of relief as the two men settled their differences amicably and Emmett escorted Mr. McCarthy to the door. No deaths today. Thank the good Lord. I envied Mr. McCarthy his escape.

"Bella, are you free this evening?"

"I'm sorry?" My pen fumbled and fell to the floor. I tried not to notice the one small, dark stain still visible if you knew where to look.

Mr. Cullen glanced down at his ledger, his deep green eyes hooded by thick lashes. I tried not to notice them.

"I was wondering if you would have dinner with me this evening," he said, his eyebrows furrowed and fingers clasped. His eyes met mine, and I looked away. "It's purely professional, I promise."

"Why me?"

"I need a companion for the evening."

It took me far too long to answer him as a thousand questions raced through my mind. But one that was most important: What would happen to me if I ever said no?

"Yes?" I said, my voice sounded small.

He moved his hands in front of his mouth, attempting to cover his slight smirk. "Are you sure?"

I'd never meant to say the words out loud, but my mouth betrayed my brain: "Do I have a choice?"

He watched me for a long moment and said, "Bella, you always have a choice."

I thought to say 'no' right then and there, but something in his sad green eyes changed my mind. Probably some sort of sick curiosity that wondered why a man like him would want to spend any sort of time with me, even on a professional level, coupled with the loneliness I'd felt for far too long. I imagined that I saw the same unhappiness in his face. Surely, he wouldn't kill me at dinner, with so many witnesses around to watch?

So I said, "Yes."

 _Out of the frying pan and into the fire._

That evening, after work, I changed my mind fifty some odd times.

He was dangerous.

He was my boss.

He was the Devil.

He was everything my father had always warned me about.

Yet, he'd never been anything to me but professional. He'd never shown me anything but kindness. He'd never so much as touched me before the day he put the necklace around my neck, and even then, he'd moved away from me quickly.

He'd told me I had a choice.

Maybe one day I could escape this life, be free. Damn him, but he'd given me a glimmer of something that had been missing for so long.

Hope.

If I were able to leave, though, what would I do? Was not starving to death worth the price of being fettered to this family?

I stepped into the company car exactly at 8 pm, surprised to see Mr. Cullen in the backseat waiting for me. I got in, and the car began to speed away before I had even closed my door.

"You're wearing the same dress you wore to the office, "he said in greeting.

"Yes," My face was warm. I had considered changing, but there was no point: every one of my dresses, skirts, and button-up shirts were the same ones that I wore to the office on a daily basis. They were the nicest - and the only - clothes that I owned.

"Can you take the next right instead, please?" he said to the driver, whose blond locks were recognizable, even in the dim light of passing street lamps.

The car pulled into the shopping district.

"Really, Mi...Edward. It's fine. I can just wear this."

He ignored my protests.

We pulled up in front of a boutique, and the tall, slender girl working in the shop looked me up and down before reluctantly agreeing to assist me. She rushed me down the aisles, throwing a dress, shoes, and gloves into my arms as she pushed me through a flimsy dressing curtain to change.

She'd chosen a thin, silky gold sheath that reached to my ankles but showed every curve, dip, and imperfection. I walked from behind the dressing curtain feeling insecure and naked. I had only a brief moment to balk over my appearance before Jasper walked through the door. He looked me over twice and winked.

"We need to get going. Don't want to be late."

After I was rushed back into the car, I glanced at Mr. Cullen's watch on his wrist. The entire ordeal has taken all of twenty minutes.

He barely glanced at me.

"What are we going to be late for, are we meeting someone?" I certainly hoped not. I didn't know what kind of business he planned to conduct this evening, and though I was fairly certain he wouldn't kill me in a crowded restaurant, I couldn't speak for anyone else. Especially if that poor idiot had done something to hurt his family, as Torrin had done.

"No, we're not meeting anyone. We just need to be there before they get there."

"Who are they?" He glanced at me then, and my heart stuttered.

"Some old associates. They won't be joining us, however. Don't worry."

I fidgeted with my gloves and dress, and tried my best to not worry.

We pulled up to one of the finest Italian restaurants in Chicago, a place called 'Bella Italia,' and I realized why my plain dress would never have worked. Every person that walked through the doors was dressed to the nines in fancy suits and shiny dresses. I'd heard of the establishment in passing, but it was much different experiencing it firsthand. Golden light from backlit chandeliers touched every surface, making the space look almost magical. Velvet draperies hung from the large floor-to-ceiling windows and behind the vacant main stage in front of the room. The floor was covered in thick, plush carpeting, which was a gold color, complimenting the drapes and the bright red tablecloths. Gilded candles glistened and covered the entire place with a beautiful golden light. It was decadent and opulent, and a throwback to everything that had been considered desirable before the bottom dropped.

I clearly did not belong in such a setting.

Mr. Cullen touched my gloved elbow to show me to our table, and I sat woodenly across from him. The fabric of my dress bunched around me as I slid into my seat and I was forced to adjust it, afraid of how easily it could rip, wishing I could have my sturdy, linen, buttoned up dress instead.

Nervously, I picked up my menu and then realized that Mr. Cullen was not looking at his. His green eyes shifted across the room, noticing every face and new person who walked in the door. After a few moments, I saw them narrow and his gaze flicked over to me for a brief moment as he pushed down my menu.

"You don't want any of this. It's all just soggy pasta in sauce. No point in reading that.

"We're not eating here?"

"God, no," he said, slipping suddenly into a thick Irish brogue, which made his voice slightly deeper and his eyes twinkle, "What kind of an Irishman would I be if I allowed you to eat this sopping mess _they_ call food?"

I blinked, and it took me a few moments to regather my thoughts.

"So, you're not Italian?"

"No," he said, smiling, in his normal voice, the one that I was used to hearing day in and day out. He folded his hands over the tablecloth. "I'm not."

Irish, then.

The Irish Mafia.

I'd heard of it, of course. Even in our remote corner of the world, Charlie had mentioned it once or twice when talking to some of his friends. But I was a child then: too young to understand the world and the dangers it held… of green-eyed men with beautiful accents who killed people.

My back stiffened.

"If we're not here to eat, why are we here then?"

"To send a message," he said, his eyes carried the weight of the same sadness the day that he'd welcomed me into his world. They drifted lower, to the necklace that lay over the ruffles of my dress.

"Have you taken it off?"

"No," I answered quickly. His eyes met mine again, and I blushed.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Why?"

He shrugged and looked away, again scanning the room. Finally, he'd found what he was looking for. I began to turn around, but his shoe nudged mine beneath the table. "Don't turn around. Just keep looking at me."

He must have noticed my fear, because he said, "You are not in any danger, Bella. I won't let anything happen to you. Just do as I say, and everything will be fine.

I nodded.

"Besides," he said, his hand reaching over to mine, pulling the long gloves from my fingers, startling me, "No one would ever consider harming you in that dress."

I suddenly wished I could hide behind the nearest set of curtains.

"Do me a favor. Lean forward slightly and laugh as if I've just said the funniest thing you've ever heard."

I cringed and did as he asked, and terribly.

He smiled reassuringly at me, cocking his head to the side as if trying to study my face from a different angle.

"You are _really_ a terrible actress."

"Yes," I mumbled angrily, trying to hide my flaming face. I felt exposed and uncomfortable, and I wanted to leave. I wanted to crawl under the table.

"Do you always wear your hair like that?"

My hand immediately flew to my braids that were neatly pinned and tucked against the base of my head, near my neck. It was a style I'd worn for so long that I never really thought about it. My hair was unruly and wild at times, and it had always made sense to keep it up.

"I thought about hacking it off, getting one of those short hairstyles. I just never had the courage to go through with it. I grew up with an old-fashioned great aunt who believed all girls should have long hair."

"I hope you never decide to cut it. Though…" He pursed his lips and let the sentence hang. I didn't try to pry the rest from him.

"Where is your family?" he asked, the question abrupt.

The inquiry struck me off guard, and I grimaced and paused for far too long before I answered him.

"Nowhere? I don't know where my mother is; she left me a long time ago. My father… was killed when I was young. My great aunt, who I was sent to live with here in Chicago, died about five years ago. That's it."

"Hmm…" he said, his eyes still hovering over my face. I wished he'd look away. "Your mother left you? Why would she do that?"

I shrugged, "I don't know. It was a long time ago. It used to bother me more than it does now. Leaving me was probably the best thing she ever did for me. 'Cuz then I had Charlie. My dad." Because of my nerves, I was rambling, giving away more than was necessary.

"You loved him very much, didn't you?"

I could feel tiny pinpricks behind my eyes and swallowed thickly, shoving my emotions back. This was not the time or place to rehash my past, especially not with an evil man. I wondered why he cared and why I was sharing such intimate details of my life with him. I simply nodded and closed my lips, refusing to speak further on the topic. He took my hint, but his next question shocked me.

"How many lovers have you had?"

He grinned at my sudden, wide-eyed expression.

"Come now, we're adults here. I won't judge you. Seven? Two?"

I wadded my napkin up in my lap, angry at my face that was showing everything. My cheeks felt as though they burned brighter than the candle that was lit between us on our table. I bit my lips hard. I was a terrible actress, indeed.

"So you're a good girl, then," he deduced, " How is that even possible that not one man has snagged you? You're smart and so beautiful."

"I'm really not, and I don't think that's any of your business, Mr. Cullen. Are we finished here?"

"Not quite," he said as he glanced behind me once more.

"Why am I here?"

"I told you," he said absent-mindedly, thankfully paying attention to something else. "We're sending a message. Just as Carlisle asked."

I only knew of Carlisle through brief, overheard conversations in the office. They respected him, obeyed him.

"Why on earth would Carlisle, or anyone else for that matter, care that I'm having dinner with you?"

"Dance with me," he said, as his eyes slipped back to my face and his hand covered mine. I flinched and jerked away, realizing immediately that I'd made a mistake. His expression never changed, never showed anger. If I wasn't careful, I was going to get myself killed. I didn't want to upset him, to give him reason to decide I was no longer useful, so I gathered my courage, stood and grabbed his hand instead.

He smiled at me and quickly pulled me into the middle of the room, where the dance floor was set. There was no piano, no orchestra, only the murmurs of many people in the midst of conversations, the tinkling sounds of the crystal chandeliers that swayed slightly beneath the breeze of the fans overhead, and the clink of forks and knives and glasses.

"There's no music, " I said, looking around self-consciously. He placed a hand on my face, the warmth startling and oddly calming all at once.

"There's always music." He grabbed my hand, and placed the other on my shoulder blade, his fingertips grazing the skin of my back where it wasn't covered by silk, and we began to move. Many conversations ended, and I felt my face flush, but I kept my eyes on him. I was clumsy and slow. He didn't seem to mind.

A piano began to play a waltz, and I wondered how it must feel to have so much power over everything around you. I shook my head slightly.

"What is it?"

"You get everything you want, don't you?" I regretted the words as soon as they'd left my lips.

"Not everything," he said, a smile alight on his lips that didn't reach his eyes. I had to look away. As he turned me then, I noticed them: the men he'd been seeking out. They were the type of men who demanded attention, exuded power. There were four of them, all broad-shouldered with black hair and eyes. They sat at a table very close to the far back wall, their eyes on us, on me. With black, pinstriped suits and ties, each looked exactly as I'd pictured men who were members of organized crime families. One of them, the tallest, began to fiddle with a hat that he held in his hand on top of the table. It was gray and older looking, like something that had been made in the last decade. One I felt I had seen before.

When I was much younger.

Looking through a crack in a closet door.

Watching as a man killed my father.

I gasped and gripped Edward's shoulder tightly. He moved his hands from my shoulder to the small of my back, pressing me against him, forcing me to focus on him, and I was lost in my fear and anger and emerald green.

"Breathe, Bella. You're fine. No one is going to hurt you."

I nodded, but couldn't force my panic down quickly enough. The rational part of my brain told me that it was impossible. I was never really sure what I'd seen that night, I was just a child.

I wanted to run.

I wanted to slap him for the intimate way that he was touching me, looking at me, never missing a step while all I wanted was to crumble to the floor.

"Breathe, Bella," he said, his cheek caressing mine as he leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "In just a moment, we're going to walk out as though we're in a mad hurry to be alone." His voice was oddly reassuring. The voice of a murderer. He spun me around, making a few more turns in the dance and then he stopped. His fingers on my back twitched slightly.

"Now, I'm going to kiss you, " he said, "Just go with it."

There was no time to protest before his lips were on mine. I'd seen kisses in movies: they were chaste and quick and over before they'd begun. His kiss was nothing like that. He mouth moved over mine, warm and soft, demanding; claiming. He groaned slightly against my lips in a slight exhale, his warm breath fanning my sensitive skin before claiming my mouth once again.

And I lost all control.

My fingers were buried in his hair as I pulled him closer, everything inside me wanting more. Needing more. I was completely lost, everything forgotten but his hands on my back, his lips covering mine. A new sensation that was stronger than unrest or fear was blooming inside my body, and I wanted it like I wanted air in my lungs.

And then it was over, and he was pulling me quickly through the room, out into the humid night. He pulled me with him into the waiting car and closed the door behind us as I fought to catch my breath. I was thankful for the darkness and that he couldn't see my heated face or angry tears.

I spent the entire ride to my apartment convincing myself that I hadn't seen what I thought I had in the restaurant, and hadn't felt what I thought I'd felt when his lips were on mine.

I glanced over at him in the darkness and watched him as he stared out of his window, lost in his own thoughts. He said nothing else to me, but had his driver stop at a different restaurant to pick up food. I was surprised when he opened his door and went into the establishment himself, leaving a cold void.

Stupid, stupid girl.

Feeling eyes on me once more, I looked up in the rearview mirror and met Jasper's familiar blue gaze.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I said softly. "Thanks."

He nodded, and Mr. Cullen was back again, handing me a box. The food smelled wonderful, but I wasn't hungry. My stomach clenched painfully. My heart did the same.

When we arrived at my apartment building, Jasper began to get out, but Mr. Cullen stopped him, telling him that he'd escort me to my place. We climbed the four flights in silence, and he said nothing as I fumbled with my keys.

My door was open, but moving away seemed like an impossible task.

Doubting my own sanity, I stood there for a long, awkward moment, staring at the keys in my hand. He was dangerous and evil, and yet I wanted to be nearer. I wanted to lose my fear and doubts and heartache in the warmth of his lips, in the heat of his skin.

"You're going to be safe, Bella," he said solemnly before quickly moving even farther from me. "I'll see you tomorrow morning in the office? Business, as usual tomorrow, don't worry."

I nodded stupidly before closing and locking my door. My forehead rested against the rough wood as angry tears leaked from my eyes, and I felt very much like I'd just been ripped through a tornado, set back on my feet, and then told that nothing had happened.

Nothing _had_ happened.

I was simply overstressed: I'd witnessed a man die. It reminded me of my father's death, which made me think I'd seen something that I hadn't. A figment of my imagination. That was all.

I was just lonely. How long had it been since I'd experienced human interaction that involved a warm embrace or a kind touch? Several months, and then only because Mrs. Worthington, who was kicking me out of her boarding house at the time, had felt slightly guilty. She'd never tried to speak to me before, much less show fondness - not that I'd expected her to. It was only natural that I'd have such an extreme reaction to his mock affection.

It was only pretend.

That was all.

I changed for bed and hung the dress carefully in the closet among my normal clothes. It looked foreign and out of place amongst the normal stiff fabrics and the simple cotton that I typically wore. It looked wrong. I turned around to the couch where I'd thrown my bag and realized that the gloves were nowhere in sight. He'd never given them back to me.

Exhausted and heart-weary, I climbed into bed in just my bra and underwear. The lights by my bed were far too bright for sleep, but as always I left them on, struggling with the pins that held my hair in place before I flopped heavily under my thick blanket.

As my eyes closed, I said a quick thank you to whomever was listening, that I at least had this; my own safe shelter.

Yes, at least I had this.

 **-  
Thank you for reading. I hope to have a new update for you soon. 3 I would love to be able to update every week, but life is chaotic and hours are far too short. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much to everyone for reading my story!**

 **This chapter was edited by BeLynda Smith.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or its characters. Thank you for Stephenie Meyer for letting us play with them.**

* * *

He was all business in the office just as he had promised, never once making a move to come closer than was necessarily essential for us to accomplish our jobs. At the end of each day, he called me into his office and sat across from me in the masculine room, the dark wood of the paneling surrounding us.

"Are you free again this evening?"

Fear made me keep my distance from Mr. Cullen during the day, but curiosity made me say yes every evening when he asked the question. He was inexplicably a completely different person outside of the office and in that dining room; deep and serious as usual, but also funny and charming - almost boyish. I couldn't understand who he truly was or what the point of his scheme was. I couldn't understand why it even mattered if he was seen in public with me.

I was no one.

We would sit across from each other at an elaborately decorated round table, attending a dinner that neither of us ate, while he peppered me with questions and pretended to be interested in my answers:

"What's your favorite color?"  
"If you could live anywhere on Earth, where would it be?"  
"Do you remember your mother? What was she like?"

"Green," I'd said, my face feeling hot.  
"Forks, Washington. It was the only place I'd ever felt at home."  
"Not really. I remember her crying and yelling a lot. She had hair that wasn't blonde, but wasn't brown either. She liked whiskey." I'd also remembered that she'd never liked hugs or kisses and that she'd once left me alone for two days with nothing to occupy my time but an old rag doll and the roaches in the corners of the hotel room where we lived, but I'd kept that to myself. A man who kept so many of his own secrets didn't deserve to know all of mine.

Even though I knew that it was an act, it was still nice to not be alone. To have someone even fake an interest in my life for such a small moment every day was flattering; preposterous, but flattering.

It was almost easy to forget sometimes, when his handsome face was so close to mine, that there were ghosts hiding in the shadows of my memories, waiting to eat me alive.

None of it was real.

I'd determined, after my first embarrassingly hysterical reaction, that I'd made it all up in my head. I hadn't escaped from that tragic night completely unscathed. It was a normal reaction, after all of this madness that I was now living in, to let my fear sometimes take over all rational thought. A piece of me had died that night along with my father. The extraordinary stress that I was living with had just brought it all back. It worried me that those fears were beginning to take over _all_ of my life and not just the hours of the night that I was alone in the dark with my nightmares.

At the stroke of midnight, just like Cinderella's coach, my prince of a date would turn back into a pumpkin (or perhaps that was my function) and the rest of the night would be spent in heavy silence as he dropped me at my door. By the end of the second week, in my closet hung six different shades of green, five red, three white, and one gold. They were beautiful and glittering and depressing.

If there were any doubt of whether our evenings together meant more than just another complicated part of my job, the question was answered with my next paycheck which had doubled in amount. I was making far more than a normal secretary should be making. After two weeks, he stopped asking. He never kissed me or asked me to dance again.

I told myself I was glad.

* * *

Glenn Miller's 'Moonlight Serenade' played softly in the background, and I hummed along to it while sorting my paperwork. Mr. Cullen had decided to put a radio in the office, an added luxury that many people couldn't afford to have in their own houses.

"Is this a good idea?" asked Emmett, when the delivery man pulled into the waiting room with the monstrous equipment strapped upside down to a dolly.

Mr. Cullen shrugged. "We need some music in here."

I could barely hide my excitement when I saw it being wheeled in. It was one of the prettiest radios I'd seen, made of solid cherry with inset carvings in the front and sides. The large dials and speakers placed in front seemed almost an afterthought to the rest of the piece, which stood on four spindly legs that looked as though they'd collapse at any moment. Yet they stood tall and sturdy, a true sign of excellent craftsmanship. He placed it in in a corner of his office along with a large potted plant and a plain metal filing cabinet, as if those two things would disguise the large, ostentatious piece of furniture. The office door remained open for a change, and the radio played throughout the day, only to be turned off during the times that he was expecting a client.

I spent my first two hours of work trying to not dance in my seat while listening to local bands; the third hour was spent not typing while listening to the ongoing saga of 'Our Girl Sunday,' the story of a woman from a mining company who had married a wealthy British aristocrat. The fourth and fifth hours, I sniffled through 'Little Orphan Annie' feeling very connected with the poor little girl who had no parents to call her own. But the sixth hour I sat silent, listening to a familiar waltz while I tried my best to not think of the feel of his lips on mine and his soft hair beneath my fingertips.

Admittedly, it was very distracting.

"Bella?"

I jumped when his hand touched my shoulder, several papers spilling near the newest vase of white flowers.

"Sorry!" I bit my lip and looked down at my feet.

"Do you have a minute?"

I nodded mutely and followed him into his office. He closed the door behind us and clicked off the radio as he walked past.

"Carlisle wants to meet with you," he said as he sat on the edge of his desk.

"Why? Am I doing something wrong?" I swallowed the large lump in my throat.

"No, not at all. The opposite, actually," he quickly added, "You can say no." I waffled for a while, my eyes drifting from the window, to the desk, to the dark stain on the floorboards, and my answer slipped from my lips before I'd even considered the possible consequences.

"No."

His eyelids dropped and I caught a brief flash of a smile before he was back to his normally stoic self. "Very well. I'll let him know."

To my surprise, he picked up the phone, his long fingers dialing a number.

"Hello?" he said into the talking piece of the phone, turning his back to me. "Yes, I did. She said no."

I held my hand out, wanting to tell him I'd changed my mind. He turned and saw my wide eyed expression and had the audacity to wink.

I watched, frozen, as he finished his conversation with a lot of yeses and mhhms. At the end of the conversation, he closed with, "Love you, too." and hung up the phone.

I watched his face, waiting to see what he would say.

"I'm afraid you'll have to come to dinner anyway."

"But-"

"I said you could say no to _Carlisle_. That was Esme." He smiled widely then, a glimpse of the man that I'd seen many times before at Bella Italia.

"We never say no to Esme."

* * *

By the time 6:00 came about, I had taken a quick bird bath to wash the sweat of the day from my skin, and brushed and pinned my frizzy hair back into place. With the heat and humidity there was no true feeling of clean, but at least I smelled better and looked less disheveled. I barely had time to slide one of the darker of the green dresses over my head before I heard a knock. I quickly slipped on my shoes, pulled open the door, and gawked in surprise to find my boss standing there.

Normally the quintessential businessman in a complete three piece suit with a tie, it was somewhat startling to open the door and find him in a simple pair of tapered slacks and a long-sleeved white shirt. The well-cut shirt accentuated his broad shoulders and strong arms and torso, the color striking against his dark auburn hair. For a split second I was in awe of just how beautiful he was.

"You're not Jasper," I said stupidly, fumbling with the buckle of my shoe. Though Mr. Cullen had always walked me to my home at the end of our evenings, Jasper was always the one who came to my door to fetch me.

"No, are you disappointed?" he asked as he knelt down to help me with my shoe. The gesture was far too familiar, but I attempted to laugh it off along with his question.

"I'm overdressed," I said as I he held open the door for me.

"Not at all. Esme and my sisters will be dressed similarly, I'm sure."

Edward drove, for once, and the car ride was silent; comfortably so. When he finally spoke, we were well on our way out of the city, farther than I'd expected. In my imaginings of the great Carlisle that everyone seemed to know - but I had never laid eyes on - he seemed like some sort of crime lord deity. I'd pictured him living in the highest apartment building in the middle of the city, where he could dictate his every whim by opening his windows and throwing coded letters and money in any general direction. The thought of him living in the suburbs away from the manic activity of the city somewhat deflated my mental image.

"There's something you need to know about Esme," Mr. Cullen said, breaking the silence as he shifted gears in the shiny model T. "She doesn't know anything about the business or what we do."

"How is that possible?"

"You are a rare bird, Bella. Not many women are privy to that information. In fact, in our family at least, you're the only woman who knows."

 _How lucky for me_ , I thought bitterly to myself.

"She's a very intelligent woman, but I think she sometimes sees what she wants to see. It's much easier for her to swallow the notion that her family has been extremely fortunate in business." A muscle in his cheek twitched as he muttered, "Also, Carlisle is a very good liar."

HIs sharp tone when he said his father's name was surprising, but I pretended that I hadn't heard it.

"What do you tell her you do?"

Edward cringed, "She knows the cover story that everyone else does. We own restaurants."

"In a city where a lot of people are starving."

He nodded in reply.

Gravel crunched beneath the car's tires as we pulled up in front of the largest house I had ever seen. Their home was a mansion, a masterpiece of glittering light and white stone. Large arches stretched across the front of the building, accentuating tall windows that were flooded with light. I could see a crystal chandelier hanging centered behind each one, spilling colors of yellow and gold out into the otherwise dark night. From my view limited by the car windows, I could only see pieces of the massive home, which I was certain was the type of place that was so large it had wings and servants and things brought to you on large silver trays.

Mr. Cullen walked around the car and opened my door.

"What do you think?" he asked, his voice clipped and sullen.

"It looks like The White House. It's beautiful."

Beautiful was an understatement. Outside of the car windows, it looked like a dream. As we walked closer, I could see inlaid carvings in the marble along the front walls. If the outside was this magnificent, I couldn't even imagine what the inside looked like.

"I suppose this is every girl's dream house," he said.

I chewed my bottom lip and thought for a moment. "I don't know. I'd hate to clean all of those rooms."

He laughed loudly and said, "If you think the lady of the house is the one who does the cleaning, you are very mistaken."

"Well, in that case…" I began and then said, "No. I don't see the point in it. Why live with people if you're going to be so far removed from all of them?"

I realized my error when his eyebrows raised in response. "I'm sorry if that was the wrong thing to say. This is your home, and I'm just… I don't always think before I speak. I'm so sorry."

"No," he said, "You're right. In these big houses no one knows the people or what goes on in them." A dark look washed over his face and I looked away.

"I don't live here. I haven't for a while."

He placed his hand on my elbow and led me up the many steps, his touch oddly welcoming as I made my way to finally meet my pseudo, murderous, crime family for the first time.

* * *

It was all a fairy tale: a glittering, opulent fairy tail, and I didn't fit. I felt awkward and out of place. The table was set with fine china, and I was afraid to touch it. There was more food than I'd ever seen in one place before - certainly more than the eight of us in attendance could eat - and it made me feel guilty. The crystal wine glasses only held wine, which made me feel like a liar. I was being entertained in Esme's beautiful home, and we were all keeping secrets from her.

I liked her immediately. As soon as she saw us walking through the door, she began to make a fuss, giving me a giant hug. She was genuine, which from what I had seen in my somewhat short life, was a rare and wonderful thing.

She seemed to be a very sweet person, and I wondered how they lived with themselves knowing they were constantly lying to her lovely face.

As soon as the introductions were over and we moved into the enormous dining area, I looked at each of their faces: Jasper, Emmett, and Edward, who all were looking as though they were distracted, solemn - like children who had been disciplined. Perhaps they felt guilty after all.

I noticed Emmett taking the hand of Rose, who sat beside him, and wondered about their relationship. I had assumed that Rose was their sister, but the way she looked at him with such loving adoration said otherwise.

Alice sat directly beside me. Her hair hung limply in her face and down her back in a somewhat tangled mess. I wondered why no one else seemed to notice. She was small and thin, but unnaturally so. Her pale blue, sequined dress hung on her like a beautiful sack. She stared at the plates of food that were put in front of her as if they'd offended her somehow.

"Carlisle is late again. I'm so sorry, Bella. You can go ahead and eat. This is just the way it is at dinner time."

Edward's cheek twitched again, and I noticed Jasper looking at Alice for a long moment before settling into his plate. How many secrets did this dining room hold? It seemed the air was thick with the weight of them all.

Carlisle walked into the room just as we were finishing the first course. He was relatively small in stature, only a couple of inches taller than I was, but his presence was larger than life. I had expected him to be older, but his pale blond hair was full and thick and he had the clearest blue eyes I'd ever seen. He looked for Esme first, a wide smile alight on his face as though he was glowing from the inside and I envied them. I wondered what it would be like to have that kind of connection to another person, the kind where you seek them out before even noticing anyone else, even after long years of marriage.

"Carlisle, Edward brought a guest. This is Bella," she said gesturing toward our end of the long table which was far too large for hand shaking, and I was thankful. I didn't like the way he looked at me, as if those blue eyes could see right into my insides and find all of my secrets.

"Bella," he said, nodding toward me. "It's a pleasure. I'm glad you could join us."

"Thank you," I said quietly.

Another lie. Half the table knew that I wasn't here because I was invited by Edward.

"Edward, you're dressed very casually this evening." Every other man in the room was dressed in formal dinner attire: vests, ties, and jackets.

"Yes, it's the way things are done now," he said from beside me with no expression in his voice. Both Jasper and Emmett winced.

I noticed Alice flinching slightly beside me, and I wished I could pat her hand. Or maybe throw my arms around her. Had Torrin done this to her? The more I looked at her, the more I hated him. Edward had said he'd attacked her. My heart felt sick at what that statement meant.

Had she gone to her brother with her story? Is that why he'd killed the man? In a perfect world, the right thing to do would have been to contact the authorities and let them handle things. But it would have been her word against his. And in court, with a male judge, the word of a female against such a successful businessman would have certainly made the scales tip heavily in his favor.

"Where are you from, Bella?" asked Esme, diverting my attention.

"Washington State," I said, swallowing a bite of food.

"Ugh, Washington," Emmett murmured. Carlisle, Jasper, and Edward stopped what they were doing to look at him, but their expressions gave nothing away.

"You've been to Washington?" I asked, my voice a little too high. I was just so excited for a moment to have anything in common with any of them.

"Uh, yeah. Once." he said hurriedly. "Lots of trees."

I laughed. "Yeah, we're known for that there. Lots and lots of trees. In some places, the trees grow so tall, you can't even see the sky."

"It sounds lovely." Esme said. "So, Bella, where did you and Edward meet?"

I faltered and thankfully Edward jumped in.

"In the city," he said, not elaborating. I could see that she'd expected some sort of romantic story and she looked disappointed.

"And where is your family, Bella?"

"They're no longer living," I said.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Well, it's a good thing Edward found you. We have enough family here to go around."

 _Indeed._

She meant it as a kind gesture, I was sure of it. As I looked from face to face, I could see that everyone else was pretending to not have heard her. Jasper met my gaze and smiled slightly in apology. I smiled back.

"Carlisle tells me you two have been seeing a lot of each other lately."

Esme was beaming.

I could feel my face flaming, and I glanced over at Edward. "Um, yeah. We went to an Italian restaurant a few times."

 _Fourteen._ Fourteen times. Fourteen dresses, fourteen nights of questions, thirteen dates where I sat in anticipation wondering if he was going to kiss me again.

"Italian?" she said, looking shocked. "Edward, you hate Italian food!"

Jasper and Emmett snickered, making me smile.

"You must really like her to take her to eat pasta."

"Mother," he said, "How are you flowers faring? I hope the rain didn't ruin them all." He slightly nudged the fork that I was to use next as the Cullen's servants brought out the main course.

She laughed and set down her water glass. "Alright, fine. I have overstepped, and I apologize. It's just...you're the first girl he's ever bothered to bring to my table - okay, okay, I'm finished," she said laughingly in response to Edward's sudden mocking death glare. It was moments like this that I wondered what part of him was show and what was real. He obviously loved his mother very much. I wanted to be able to hold onto this particular moment and compare all of his other moods to it.

I was dwelling far too much on my boss and his mood swings.

"My flowers are fine," she said. In fact, the garden looks really lovely in the moonlight. Why don't you two go take a walk after dinner?"

Incessant. That was my new word for Esme.

It was clear she thought I was Edward's girlfriend. Torrin had called me his "tomato." DId everyone assume we were together? Despite saying she was "done," she kept asking questions about us, about our dates. Edward was kind enough to not leave me answering the questions, and he gave his mother enough information to make her happy while holding all of the ugly details back. He'd said that Carlisle was a good liar, but he was definitely a master, as well. I realized he'd done the same with me: only handing out the information that he thought I needed to have. Why did I still think he was somehow a good person?

Esme eventually moved on to everyone at the table, asking about their day, their interests, gazing at them all with loving eyes.

"Alice," she said finally, a soft tone in her voice, "How was your day?"

"Fine." It was all she offered, and a long pregnant pause followed.

"My dad liked flowers," I said, surprising myself. My interruption seemed to be well received from both Alice and Esme. "He used to plant rose bushes all over his yard."

"Oh, roses, how lovely. What variety?"

"I'm not sure," I said, suddenly wishing I knew. "I was young when I lived with him, but he treated them like babies. He used to tend to them several times a day." It was a long ago memory, but one I'd never forget; my big, manly father and his love of flowers.

"That's odd," she said. "Normally roses, once they've grown into maturity, don't need a lot of tending."

I shrugged. "I don't know. I've never tried growing anything, myself."

"Oh, well, you should! It's a wonderful hobby. Very relaxing. With all the stress in the world, everyone should have a hobby."

I smiled and told her that maybe I would. It appeared my new hobby was lying to people's faces.

My boss thankfully saved me near the end of the night, telling Esme he'd take me on a tour of the garden. I glanced over at Alice who had yet another full plate of food taken away by a servant, and a wave of hate for James Torrin flooded over me once again.

Carlisle also stood to leave.

"Is everyone skipping dessert?" asked Esme. "I had the chef make something special for you."

"Sorry, dear." Carlisle said, kissing her cheek. "I have business to attend to."

"So late?"

He nodded. "We're having some trouble with one of the south side restaurants. I need to make some phone calls. Good evening, everyone. Bella, it was nice to finally make your acquaintance. I hope we'll be seeing more of you in the future." I smiled slightly, unsure of what I was supposed to say. I hoped I'd never have to see him again.

I breathed a small sigh of relief. I'd had the idea in my head he'd wanted to speak with me one-on-one.

Everyone murmured polite goodbyes to him as he began to walk away from the table.

Before he left, he looked toward my fake dinner date. "Edward, the next time you arrive at your mother's table, please make sure to be properly dressed for it."

"Yes, sir," he said coolly. The two exchanged a look as Carlisle exited the room.

* * *

"Is Alice going to be okay?" I asked as he led me through Esme's beautiful backyard.

She had called it a garden, but it was more like a living maze. Gorgeous climbing plants, roses, and hedges grew in random clusters, leaving paths in between them. It would have been peaceful during the daytime, or in a different setting, but my heart was too heavy and there was too much darkness surrounding me; literally and figuratively.

"I don't know," was all he said for a long moment as we walked slowly down the path, side-by-side, furthering the ludicrous charade that we were a couple. "It's kind of you to worry about her."

The moon was high but not full, shining just enough light to for us to somewhat pick our way through the garden as we walked toward the crop of trees at the property's edge. The darkness was unnerving, but his closeness somehow seemed to diminish my usual level of panic. It didn't extinguish it completely, however.

I was still vibrating from dinner: from being around more people than I was used to, from being asked so many questions, having too much attention drawn to me.

Days and weeks of stress, new nightmares, the emotional ups and downs that I experienced on a daily basis, (especially during our "dates") the fear that was all consuming night and day - it all came down around me, furthering my anxiety.

I realized this was the first time that we'd truly been alone. Everywhere there were people surrounding us, and I wouldn't have another chance. I could barely make out his face in the waning light. The darkness that always fed my fear was also fueling my sudden sense of bravado.

I stopped in my tracks and he turned toward me.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Is that why you killed James? Because of what he did to Alice?"

"I thought you knew that."

I took a breath.

"But why did you do it in front of _me_? Why would you want me to watch a man die? Why am I even here?"

He took a long time to answer, and when he spoke, his words were slow and careful, but gentle. "You needed to see the kind of life that you would lead with us… and I can't answer that."

"Can't or won't?"

He said nothing.

"I deserve to know."

"Yes, you do. I'm not the one who can tell you." His voice was soft, comforting. It didn't do a thing to calm the storm inside me.

"Who is?" I asked quietly, fearing that I knew the answer before he'd said it.

"Carlisle."

A thought occurred to me then, a single thought that made my blood run cold.

"It's not a coincidence that you found me that day, is it?" The question was not more than a whisper, but I knew he heard me.

"No. It wasn't."

My mind went into a panic and all the anger fell away and gave way to fear. I wanted to run, but I couldn't make my body move. If I did run, where would I go? Into the copse of surrounding trees to slowly starve? I had no money, no prospect of a future. All I had was here and now with a man who had just admitted to me that he had purposely pulled me into a mafia family, but refused to tell me why.

It was all planned.

For my entire life, I had always done exactly as I was told. I had never caused a problem for anyone. I was meek and quiet and reserved and had never taken a risk. Ever. Why was I suddenly forced to work amongst criminals? What had I done to deserve any of this?

"Bella, there are a lot of things you can't know. You know far too much already. If there's any hope of you ever-"

"What? Ever what?" I said, my voice high and frantic.

"Nothing. I've said too much."

"You mean of me ever… leaving?" I was afraid to say the words, afraid that as soon as they left my lips, I'd be in trouble.

"I can't talk about this, especially not here. Just remember, you have a choice."

I reflected on that for a long moment. If that was true… if I could one day be free from them, If I could leave Illinois, maybe I could start over someplace else, someplace safe. The small light of hope he'd given me before had begun to burn even brighter. My heart constricted at the thought of it. I looked up at him, his face that was mostly in shadow, at his hair softly lit by the moonlight and wondered why he was suddenly helping me.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Bella… I don't want to hurt people."

It was the first time I could see him for who he truly was; the first time I could imagine him as anything other than a threat. I suddenly saw him as potential ally, as a potential friend.

He drove me home that evening in silence, and I could feel the shift that had occurred between us, of some unknown barrier that was missing.

And I wasn't afraid of him.

He dropped me off at my apartment with a quiet, "Good night."

I closed my door softly, my heart and mind full of a future that I hadn't considered in so very long. A future that would still be lonely and full of fear that I'd one day be found - but a future that would be _mine_.

And I began to plot my escape.


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh my goodness, this is moving along! Let us hope that I can still find time to write with a new puppy in the house. Wish me luck!  
**  
 **Please note:** **There is violence in this chapter. If you have any triggers, please skip the section after the word "staircase"and come see me. I'll give you the abbreviated version along with some hugs and chocolate.)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or its characters, but I am having a grand time playing around with them.**

 **Thank you to BeLynda Smith, who betaed this chapter for me. I appreciate all of your critiques and input.**

* * *

I spent most of the night in my muggy room, planning. Wearing nothing but my slip, my hair still up in bobby pins, I sat on the hard wood of my bedroom floor with a notebook and an empty shoe box. The occasional breeze from the wide open windows and a small fan blew air around the warm room, bringing relief in bits and pieces. They were still unable to compete with the hot air, even though the sun had set hours before.

From my bedroom window, I could hear faint voices from other people in neighboring apartments who'd done the same thing. I could hear a couple of men laughing loudly from several feet away. The sound of a baby's cries carried on the wind. A piano was being played somewhere downstairs, the melody sad but calming. The sounds here were very different from the kind that I had heard in my childhood; crickets and animals in the far distance.

I'd counted my earnings from my job three times, and created a budget of how much I would need to leave, how much I'd need to live, how much I'd need to eat - at least until I could become established and get a job somewhere. Though I knew it would be foolish, I kept imagining running back to Forks. To be surrounded by trees and green and ocean was a dream that I hadn't allowed myself to imagine for quite a while.

I had a little over $400 and change thanks to the free housing that I'd enjoyed since i'd taken the job. What little was spent had gone to food and whatever modest, professional clothing I had been able to find. I decided to stop buying anything that I absolutely didn't need.

Then there was the matter of actually, physically leaving. Would it be better to run as soon as I got the chance and hope that Jasper couldn't catch me? He had a strong physique and very long legs and I doubted my five feet, four inches would get very far. In reality, none of the plans that I could think of would work. My only hope was for an odd day that they were distracted and busy and wouldn't notice me missing. Who was I to them, anyway? Just a secretary who had witnessed one too many crimes?

Every penny that I had saved was placed carefully into a shoe box and shoved into the far corner of the room, under my bed. It wasn't the best hiding place, but with the lack of secret loose floorboards or false walls in my tiny apartment, it was the best that I could do. With a sigh, I leaned back on my heels and closed my eyes, filling my head with the music of the human race that surrounded me. I said a silent prayer that it would be enough.

The next morning brought with it a promise of a new future, and I revelled in it. Things that I'd once ignored seemed more real and vivid than before. I noticed the life of Chicago around me for once, and it was beautiful. I chose to walk instead of ride the train or take the car, and even with Jasper not more than ten paces behind me, I felt unfettered. I felt like I could fly. Even the cold gray of the towering buildings stood beautifully against the blue sky, and all around me: the birds, the children playing in the schoolyard, the cars whizzing past with their clanking engines, all spoke of freedom.

 _My_ freedom.

For the first time in a long time, I felt as though I could take a breath. I felt like I finally had lungs to breathe, and a heart, and a mind, and a purpose.

As I walked into the office, I curtailed my thoughts, afraid that they'd all be able to tell what I was thinking, what I was planning. The slight smile on my face didn't go unmissed by my boss, who looked at me quizzically as I sat in his office, taking the daily notes.

"What?" I said, finally, failing to keep the smile from my face.

"I don't know if I've ever seen you happy before." he said, a slight smile shining on his own face, "It's a nice thing to see, though I don't completely understand it."

I shrugged, "I guess you're not the only one with secrets." I said, somewhat shocked at my own boldness.

He smiled in response and we continued with our work.

By the end of the day, the heat index had risen again, but it didn't dampen my spirits.

"Are we walking this afternoon?" asked Jasper as he held open the door for me at the end of the day.

"No, I'm good to take the train." He smiled down at me, and I hurriedly rushed around him, anxious to put some distance between us. I liked Jasper. He seemed kind and sensitive and caring. I felt badly that I was going to have to one day dupe him - at least, if I was lucky enough.

I'd decided to walk to work the next day also.

I walked into the office with a spring in my step, despite the long walk, and arrived just as my boss and Emmett were hanging up their overcoats and hats.

"Good morning, Bella." said Edward absently.

"Good morning, Edward," I said, rushing to my desk to gather my pens and paper and typewriter ink. I didn't miss the look that he gave me. An infectious smile crossed his face, a large, wide-toothed grin that I'd never seen on him before, and I bit my lip in an effort not to laugh. He hadn't missed the fact that I'd called him by his first name.

Sometime in the night, while I was waiting for sleep and my usual resulting nightmares to overtake me, I'd decided that I was going to trust him. The decision could be disastrous, and I could possibly live to regret it, but in this lonely world that I was drowning in, he had been the only person to throw me a lifeline. I decided that must count for something.

When I looked up a few seconds later, as Edward was walking to his office, Jasper was standing close to my desk watching me with a look in his eyes that made me uneasy. It was as if I'd done something wrong and was about to be punished. I didn't break his gaze and he didn't speak as he walked past and into the main office, firmly closing the door behind him. The sound of the morning broadcast on the radio began to play through the closed door and I took a few shaking breaths as I stared at the mahogany of my desk, wondering what I could possibly have done to make him react that way. A slip of white caught my eye, half-buried in the green stems of new roses. It was paper, and I recognized the script of the sender as soon as I unfolded it, as it was the same writing I deciphered day in and day out.

 **Look in file B11** , it said.

 **Wait until no one is watching.**

I looked back at Edward's door, which was still firmly closed and also at the main office door. Both had been made with wood framing and an insert of cut glass, so we could easily see someone if they were on the other side. I decided that now was as good a time as any, and quietly opened the file cabinet drawer, rifling through the folders. At the very back of the very bottom cabinet, I found it jammed in between throw away files from three years ago.

I sat back in my desk chair and opened it, staring at the pages inside, unsure at first of what I was seeing.

 **Isabella Marie Swan**

 **4-01-1931**

 **Type of Account: Savings**

 **Account number: 322939**

 **Total amount $5,301.**

A shocked cry escaped my lips and I clamped my hand over my mouth to stifle it. The sudden laughter that followed was uncontrollable as tears rolled down my face.

He'd been helping me all along and I never even knew.

I quickly glanced through the rest of the paperwork in the file, the records of deposits that had been made since the first day that I'd started the job. He'd been putting odd amounts in for months. I placed a shaking hand against my forehead and stared at the pages, completely dumbfounded. He was funding my freedom.

I laid my head down on my desk and wept.

It was nearly midday when the three men finally emerged from the office. I'd had plenty of time to work out my emotions and get myself cleaned up and presentable.

Emmett walked past and rapped his knuckles on my desk. "We're going to go get something to eat. You want anything?"

"Pasta," I said with a wobbly smile as Edward emerged from his office.

"Geez, Eddie. You have to get this girl some real food for a change." Emmett said, laughing as he grabbed his hat and coat with a quiet Jasper close behind him.

"Pasta." Edward deadpanned as they were closing the office door.

I shrugged.

"I opened the file." I said quietly once the door was closed. My voice shook. "It's too much."

"It's not enough." He looked mournful and sullen, and I wanted nothing more than to pry every piece of information out of his head. I wanted to throw my arms around him in gratitude. I said instead, "I'll pay you back one day."

He smiled. "No need. Consider this my way of paying a debt."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"No," he said, looking at his feet.

"Will you ever stop speaking in code and tell me what you really mean?" It was all so much, the file, the feeling of freedom within my grasp. It was all making me bold, too bold.

He looked around then, as though he were unsure and deliberating. "Do you really want some Italian?" he said finally, and I blew out a frustrated breath and looked away.

"My mother was Italian." I said jokingly. "Does that mean you don't like me either?" As soon as I said the words, I realized that they could be misconstrued as flirtatious, and I felt my face getting hot.

He smiled then, the twin to his earlier grin. "You are the one exception."

I looked down at my keyboard and bit my lip.

The rest of the day passed quietly. I'd replaced the file exactly where I'd found it, but not before giving it a quick kiss. On a whim, I pulled out my small calendar that I carried with me everywhere in my purse, and flipped through the months. How long would I be able to stay without going crazy? Seven months? Two? My previous conversation with Edward filtered through my head and I glanced at the door behind me. I wondered what would happen to him if I left. Would they discover he'd helped me? Would he get into trouble? Surely he knew the risks and had covered his tracks. Just in case, I pulled out the file once more, writing the account number in my calendar before destroying the papers completely with a pair of scissors

I flipped forward several pages in my book and circled a random date:

Maybe I didn't have to wait for the right moment. Perhaps I could make my own.

"I'm going to be free, Dad." I whispered into the empty room to no one.

* * *

Work progressed throughout the week as it normally did, but I was distracted. The promise of freedom was all I could think about. No longer in absolute fear for my life, I stopped working as though it was the only thing I had to live for - and it began to show. He called me into his office, and I could see from his expression that something was wrong.

"Close the door, please." he said.

I complied and sat in my chair.

"This isn't your usual work."

I looked at the paper that he held out in his hand: an account record for one of the restaurants. The numbers looked like a jumble and I ran them through in my head as I went down the list, quickly noticing my glaring mistakes.

"No. I'm sorry. I'll go fix these."

"Bella, sit." he said softly as I had begun to rise.

"You caught onto this job quickly, far more quickly than we'd thought you would. I've never seen anyone so good with numbers."

"Thank you." I said quietly, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"I need you to work as though nothing has changed," he said in a hushed tone, looking toward the door as he spoke.

"I understand."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

He looked at me for a long moment. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

I wasn't sure how to respond. I looked down at the paper in my hand.

"I need you to please just pretend that the file doesn't exist, that we haven't had any important conversations."

I nodded, half tempted to tell him that I'd destroyed it, but I said nothing.

"Okay. If you feel like you're going to give something away, just think about sick kittens."

"What?" I said laughing, catching on to what he said a few seconds too late.

"Well, you can't act to save your-" he stopped and frowned and began again, "You're a terrible actress, but maybe you can think of something that will make things, I don't know, less obvious?"

I nodded and left quickly, but it wasn't the last time he called me into his office for the same reason. Fortunately, it was a day that Emmett and Jasper were called away for other things: jobs that I probably didn't want to know about.

By the third call, I was exasperated: at myself for making the mistakes and at him for calling them out. I snatched the final papers from his hand and he smiled. "Well, that's a much better reaction."

I huffed and walked out and I could hear him laughing behind me as I closed the door.

By the end of the week, I'd found a balance, keeping my excitement only for when I could be alone. Edward and I had begun sharing inside jokes and secret looks. It was a precious thing, to finally have a friend. We attended dinner again at Esme's. Carlisle wasn't able to attend, and I was glad. I noticed that Edward was dressed for the occasion this time, and I wondered what that meant.

After dinner, while everyone was standing around and chatting, I steeled my courage and walked up to Alice. It was something I'd thought about since I'd first seen her beside me at our first dinner together.

"Hi." I said, feeling awkward, uncertain. There was music playing in the background, and I recognized the radio that sat in the corner of the room as the same kind that Edward had brought into the office.

She simply looked at me. The dark circles under her eyes made her look so much older, and my heart hurt for her. Though I didn't live through the exact same thing that she had, I knew what it was like to constantly live in fear.

I'd resolved earlier in the week that I'd speak with her. Edward had told me that no other woman in their family knew what the men did for a living. I was certain that meant she didn't know what Edward had done for her. Right or wrong, I decided that she deserved to know.

"You don't have to be afraid," I said quietly.

She looked at me then, alarm all over her face.

I took a deep breath and said, "He's dead. Torrin."

"How do you know?" she asked, looking both horrified and hopeful. I caught Jasper frowning at me from my peripheral vision, but I knew he was too far away to hear what we were saying. My mouth was dry, and my palms were wet.

"I watched it happen." I whispered, hoping and praying I wasn't saying too much. Alice grabbed my hand and squeezed it, and I knew I'd done the right thing.

Her eyes were filled with tears and she said, "Thank you."

I smiled at her slightly and gripped her hand back. "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm sure I'll be at more of these things."

"Poor you," she said, smiling wider, a wicked gleam in her eye, a flash of the person she must have been before she was harmed by a vile man. Edward walked up to us then. He hugged his sister and made excuses for us as he escorted me into the gardens.

"I haven't seen her smile like that in quite a while." he said, "What did you say to her?"

I bit my lip. "Nothing that's going to fix her completely. I just told her what she needed to know. Don't worry," I added quickly, "I didn't give any details. I just told her that she doesn't have to be afraid of him anymore."

He made a sound and I couldn't tell if he was grateful or annoyed.

I felt brave. For once, it was my turn to ask the questions.

"How does everyone fit? I can tell by their looks that Jasper and Emmett are Carlisle's sons…" It wasn't a difficult observation to make. They both had his chiseled nose and jawline and, though theirs were darker variations of the shade, they both had blonde hair.

"Jasper is Carlisle's first son, then Emmett. Alice and I are Esme's children. She adopted us when we were very young. Well, adopted is a strong word." He smiled, and the light of the full moon made his features look flawless and unearthly.

He paused, and I waited for the rest of the story that didn't come.

"Rose is Emmett's wife. Her family lives in another state, so we've claimed her as one of ours."

"But you're the one in charge? Not Jasper or Emmett?"

"No," he said, "Not Jasper."

I watched his face as we walked, his hands in his pockets and his eyes far away, deep in thought. I wondered if he'd ever divulge his secrets, if he'd ever give me more than small bits of information and broken clues. I decided to take the moment to appreciate the fact that he was there, willing to walk with me in the half-darkness, thankful to have a friend. It was nice to have someone to talk to.

A question had been nagging me, and I no longer feared that I'd get into trouble for asking it. "Are you worried? That they'll retaliate after what you did to Torrin?"

"No." he said stopping to pull out a leaf that had fallen into my hair. "He hurt one of ours. We hurt him. 'An eye for an eye'. They expected it and accepted it, otherwise they would have done a better job of protecting him."

"So, the mafia has some sort of moral code?"

He laughed bitterly. "Yeah, something like that."

"Is that how Carlisle and Esme can live in this giant house without feeling like they have targets on their backs?"

"Yes, families are off limits. It's the way it's always been. The men of the family are one thing; they entered into this life willingly. If a woman or a child is harmed, that gives the other person free reign to hurt their families' wives or children. As power hungry and violent as these men can be, they still love their families and protect them at all costs."

It was odd to think of any one of them being family men, but I'd witnessed it at dinners. Carlisle was hardly a doting father, but he provided for them all and protected them. It wasn't a future that I would have wanted for myself. I wondered if Edward wanted this life. He talked about the men involved in the mafia in the third person, as if he was not also one of them. I wondered if he might also want to leave one day. I wondered if we could leave together.

" _I don't want to hurt people."_ he'd said.

It was selfish of me, to only be thinking of my own escape, and not consider his. What would he have to do? Was there some exit strategy for a man who wanted to leave organized crime, knowing what he must know? I wasn't feeling quite as brave as I thought, so I didn't ask that question, and we spent the rest of the walk in silence.

Like every other evening, he left me at my door, and instead of our usual polite goodbyes, I threw caution to the wind, and my arms around his neck. No one was around, and it was the only way that I could think to truly thank him for what he was giving me, the sacrifice that he was making for me. I didn't even care if I was doing the wrong thing. He stumbled backward and then stood very still.

"Thank you," I whispered into his shirt collar. He put his arms around me then, enveloping me in a large, warm embrace. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. I felt more than safe: I felt peaceful, protected, and foolishly, cherished.

"You're welcome," he said as he released me and quickly turned and disappeared down the staircase.

* * *

I was still smiling when I entered my apartment, but it faded as soon as I closed my door and looked around me.

Lights were off.

No, they were broken, I realized as my heel crunched over pieces of glass. I froze. There seemed to be no one in the apartment, but I couldn't see past the small kitchenette that still had a single light burning over the sink. The living area, and my bedroom beyond, were cloaked in darkness.

Shaking breaths escaped me as I carefully, quietly turned back towards my front door. If Edward was anywhere around, I could yell for him.

It would be okay.

I would be okay.

As soon as I turned, the sickening, strong smell of a familiar and long-forgotten cologne wafted around me just a split second before a large hand clamped over my mouth.

"Don't you dare scream," said a deep, gravelly voice. His breath fanned against my ear, making sick to my stomach.

He turned me around and half dragged me through the kitchen, toward my bedroom.

I began to fight then.

Some forgotten lesson of my father's snapped into place, and I picked up my right foot and dragged the side of it down his calf before I elbowed him in the ribs as hard as I could. He cursed and let go of me.

"HELP! HELP!" I screamed as I ran back toward the door, praying that Edward could hear me somehow. How far could he have gotten in the last two minutes? Would he be in his car by now, driving away? Someone would hear me. As thin as the walls were, someone...surely...

He grabbed me from behind by my hair, ripping out pins that fell to the floor amongst the small pieces of broken glass. Through my panic, I tried to think of something I could use as a weapon. An arm wrapped around my midsection, and he clamped his hand more forcefully against my mouth, making even breathing through my nostrils difficult.

"Do you think anyone's going to hear you? I've been scoping this place out for weeks. You don't have any neighbors."

My heart stuttered.

God, he was right.

It wasn't something I'd really thought about before, and I felt so stupid. I'd never seen anyone coming or going in the months that I'd been living in the building, and I had just assumed it was because the people on my floor kept separate hours.

"You really are an idiot. I don't know why Aro wants you. Good thing you were fighting so hard I had to kill you." I could almost hear him smiling as he said it, and, I continued to squirm and struggle. As he dragged me by my sofa, I saw an old, gray flannel hat sitting on my couch, confirming my suspicions, and my blood ran cold. I screamed as loudly as I could around his suffocating fingers.

"Shut up! Just tell me where it is, and I'll kill you quickly... If you keep screaming and fighting, this will go very badly for you. I'll take my time with it. You know what I can do, don't you, Isabella Swan?" His voice was soft and deep, and I almost didn't hear them around my muffled sobs. His next words, however, were screamed into my ear, "WHERE IS THE FILE?"

The only file that I could think of was marked B11, and was now completely empty, the papers shredded and in my waste paper bin. That didn't make any sense. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. His cologne and his hand and my own fear were slowly choking me.

He let go of my mouth, and instead of saying anything, I bit his fingers hard enough to draw blood. He yelled and let go of my midsection, but he gripped the back of my head and shoved me into the wooden bedpost; it made a sickening thud as I hit the hardwood.

My thoughts began to get foggy.

My own breathing resounded loudly in my ears. And beyond that, through the thin walls, I heard the loud thud of feet stomping up the stairs and into the hallway.

"Please, please, please." I pleaded as my vision began to tunnel. Something warm trickled against my neck, and I placed a hand to the side of my head and came away with blood.

My attacker heard the sound also, because he jerked away from me and let go of my hair. He jumped over my bed to the window to try to make his escape. A large, blurry shadow jumped in front of me, and to the window, quickly grabbing the man by his collar before he could fling himself onto the fire escape.

"Edward." the man said, signs of fear in his voice. "Mr. Cullen. I don't mean any trouble. I'm just here because Aro told me to-"

"What does Aro want?" he asked, gripping the man harder. When he'd killed James Torrin, he'd appeared evil, like a demon. The look on his face was somehow beyond that. It was terrifying. The man who had murdered my father was afraid of my boss, my friend. The need to get farther away from both of them took hold, and I backed blindly backwards until I hit a wall - until all I could see of them were two violent, blurry villains.

"He just wanted to send a message. You know all about that, don't you?" he said, his mouth opening in a blurred sneer. My head pounded and I thought I was going to vomit. That voice was so familiar, thick with an accent that I'd never been able to place before, and gravelly. Now that I was an adult, I recognized it as a blend of Italian and Chicago. Memories swam through my pounding head:

Tall rose bushes.

A blackboard with numbers.

A dark closet with only a thin ray of dim light pouring through a small crack.

The man in front of me, less blurry and younger, hacking my father to pieces.

Large, wet tears ran down my cheeks as I watched Edward grip both sides of the man's head. He twisted it at a sickening odd angle, tearing ligaments and crunching bones, but not before saying, "You should have learned from Torrin. We don't let people touch what's ours."

I watched the light fade from the man's eyes and a horrible feeling of relief rushed through me.

It occurred to me that the man who I'd considered a friend all week was just as violent and deadly than the man I'd been terrified of my entire life.

I vomited.

And then I blacked out.

* * *

"Bella! Bella!"

Hands were smacking me in the face. I moved to swat them away and then realized who they belonged to. I tried to bolt, but my body revolted. I was too weak to do much more than try to move his hands away. My thoughts were sluggish and it made me angry.

"Hey. Hey, you're okay." he said, softly. "Look at me. Let me see your eyes."

I obeyed, but barely. My eyes didn't want to open. I wanted to drift off into space, but only if I could do it without the nightmares.

"Hey, there you are," he said, as my eyes locked with his.

"You killed him." I said, my words garbled. He felt my arms, legs, and ribs: checking for broken bones.

"I want you to just focus on me right now. " He held up fingers for me to count. "How many fingers am I holding up?" Instead of answering, I grabbed his hand.

"He killed my dad." I said, surprised when the revelation didn't bring any change on his face.

"I know," he said.

He stood and spoke to someone else in the room, either Emmett or Jasper, or both. I couldn't make my head stop pounding long enough to focus on their faces.

Emmett patted him on the shoulder, a gesture of a job well done. They were all twisted and psychotic.

"I need to get her to a doctor. Are you okay with the cleanup?" I didn't hear the resulting answers, but my stomach heaved as he lifted me up to carry me down the stairs. The stairwell reminded me of something that was said earlier and I started laughing hysterically. He kept walking, but stared at me.

"Bella? Are you okay?"

"I'm the only person in this building and you put me on a fourth floor walk up?" I said, giggling. He smiled slightly, but worry was in his eyes.

"Not the only person," he said. I passed out again before we made it to the front doors.

* * *

At first, I thought I'd died.

Large pillows were behind my head and all around me, under my arms and legs.

Maybe I hadn't died, but was stuck in some sort of weird marshmallow dream. That would be a happy alternative to the nightmares.

I lifted my head and winced. None of my dreams had ever involved pain before, but there was a first time for everything.

Esme walked in the door of the large bedroom with a tea tray in her hands, and I realized I was awake.

"Good morning," she said. "Did you sleep well? I wasn't sure how you'd fare through the night after Edward brought you here. Does anything hurt?"

Everything hurt. My eyelids hurt. I didn't let her know that, I only shook my head slightly.

"He wouldn't tell me what happened. Do you want to tell me?"

Somewhere, in my muddled head I'd remembered that she shouldn't know. I blinked slowly and said, "I fell."

Esme frowned.

She set the tray down and began to walk away and seemingly changed her mind.

"Just tell me: Did Edward do this? Did he hurt you?"

"Edward? No. No, I know he would never hurt me." The statement struck me as absolute truth and she smiled slightly as she placed a hand on my forehead. "I'd like to think that he's good for you, Bella. I'm just not sure."

It was odd that she should say that about her own son. I pondered her declaration just a few moments before falling asleep again.

After two days of resting and mending and being cared for by Esme, Emmett found me to tell me that Carlisle wanted to speak with me. HIs tone was kind, but the words behind it made me uneasy and sick.

I took a quick bath and fixed my hair, slipping on a clean dress that Esme had kindly laid out for me from my apartment. It was one of the plainer dresses, in shades of cream and brown that always made me feel like I could blend in comfortably with the background and not be seen. It was as if she knew me.

When I walked into his office, Edward was already waiting in the dark-paneled room. Dust motes travelled in the air in front of one of the two windows behind him, circling around his face and auburn hair. It struck me that I'd missed seeing him. It had been two days since he'd brought me to this large house. Two days since he'd destroyed the demons that had plagued all my nightmares. In those two days he hadn't visited me once.

My annoyance quickly changed to concern once I paid closer attention to the defeated expression on his face.

Something was very, very wrong.

I had no idea how wrong.

* * *

Thank you all so much! The follows, favorites, and reviews have been extremely humbling. I appreciate all the feedback, glowing and constructive.

Seriously, thank you.

XOXOXO


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you, BeLynda Smith (SarcasticBimbo) for being so amazing in catching my mistakes. You're awesome.**

 **I'm not sure what happened. I sat down yesterday to write for a few hours and completed an entire chapter. Surprise! This is one of the shorter ones.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing that is Twilight related. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer.**

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From my safe distance several feet away, I hovered and watched his face; it was oddly beautiful with the setting sun behind him, the dust motes surrounding him. The light shining through the window cast an ethereal glow around his head, lightening his reddish hair and outlining his features, making him look like an angel - far different from the man I'd seen two nights ago, when evil was etched in every feature.

He wouldn't hurt me. I knew he wouldn't hurt me.

"Bella, would you come in, please?" When it came to his father, I wasn't so sure.

Carlisle ushered me into his office, where Edward sat on the small, brown leather loveseat that was pushed against the wall right beside the opened door. He glanced at me once, seeming to scan my face and the way I walked to make sure I was fine, and then he looked away again. I tried to not let it bother me and switched my focus to Carlisle's office instead.

It looked like a junk shop. Every surface of the dark room was covered in something: multiple bookshelves that were crammed full of books, artwork and tchotchkes. There were delicate things scattered amongst the shelves: jewelry, perfume bottles, handkerchiefs, along with bulky items: a wooden carving of an Indian chief, several pipes and hats. Every surface was covered, every wall plastered in art.

Below a large pile of books that were so heavy they threatened to break the piece of wood that held them, were items that were set apart, displayed as though important, as they were the only things in the packed room that were given space of their own. A teapot that was cracked, but still lovely sat beside an old doll, a baseball that was nearly threadbare beside a teddy bear with stuffing coming out of one missing ear, an army soldier, a silver brooch pinned to a piece of velvet that was propped up against the bookshelf wall, a tarnished silver baby cup etched with an M, and a shoe box from an upscale department store. It was random, perplexing nonsense, as none of it seemed indicative of the powerful man who owned it all.

I sat down beside Edward and my hands fell to my sides, palms pressed against the cool leather. Edward did the same, our fingers nearly touching, a few millimeters of space between them. Whether his gesture was kindness or just coincidence, I didn't know, but Carlisle's eyes followed the movement, and I jerked my hands away, holding them instead in my lap. I immediately regretted the action. It made me look guilty, as if I was doing something wrong for wanting contact with a friend. I also regretted that my action had caused me to miss the potential comfort of his touch.

I was on edge, every nerve a live wire, as Carlisle opened a briefcase that sat on the desk beside him. He held up a very small stack of papers that gleamed under the light of the lamp close to him. They had a sheen to them as though they were coated in some sort of plastic. I watched him as he gestured with them as he spoke, trying to comprehend why they looked so odd.

"In this family, there are rules, and they must be followed. If members of our household don't follow the rules, then there is chaos and everything that I've worked for for so long can fall apart. Do you understand?"

I stared at him, slightly annoyed at being spoken to as if I were a child and wondering how a man with a room full of nonsense could lecture anyone about chaos. Just being in the room made me extremely uneasy. Though they were just objects – things – something about them – about his voice and the way he managed to speak so calmly and with such malice at the same time – made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

I suddenly realized that it was tape that covered the papers he was waving around, and wondered why on earth someone would use that much scotch tape on a sheet of paper.

"There are repercussions for broken rules. If you break them, you've lost my trust. I can't let that happen, especially when it's done right under my nose."

In a single moment of horror, I realized what he held.

My bank files.

The files that Edward had given me: his money, my future. Carlisle held my future in his hands as he looked at me with clear blue eyes that saw straight through me, eyes that missed nothing. I'd thrown them away, I'd destroyed them very meticulously with scissors and shoved them in the bottom of my trash can along with my other mistakes from the week.

He'd found them anyway.

My eyes dropped to the floor, my head inclined slightly toward Edward as I whispered, "I'm sorry."

"At least Bella has the decency to show some genuine remorse," he said to Edward as he held up the papers that, a week ago when they'd been given to me, had represented all of my hopes and dreams, and were now reduced to the simple materials that they were: paper and scotch tape and black ink. I could feel it all being snatched away and I recoiled as though I'd been punched in the gut. It was difficult to breathe.

Forks, trees, ocean air, life, breath, freedom, hope, were all snatched away in that one heartbeat and there was nothing that I could do to stop it. There was nothing I could do to get it back. It had felt the same way when Charlie had been taken from me. That brief moment of happiness I'd had with him was suddenly gone and I couldn't do anything - I couldn't say anything. I simply sat cowering, just as I'd done before, as everything was taken away.

My head throbbed painfully and images flashed behind my eyes once more: a chalkboard, jumbled numbers, red splashed all over a hardwood floor.

I heard Carlisle speaking as though inside a fishbowl. None of his words made any sense, and my head continued to pound, a continuous pulse of pain and pressure, most likely a result of my body still healing from injury and stress.

"This is extremely disappointing," Carlisle said. "You of all people, Edward, know what I've had to sacrifice to keep this family safe, to keep us alive."

Edward seemed to ignore him, his gaze fixed on a spot on the floor, his expression pensive.

Carlisle laughed bitterly, a mix between frustration and sorrow. "Fine, don't say anything. When you're in my position, you'll see that all I've done is for your well-being. For Esme's, for Mary Alice's, for this entire family."

His words sounded empty and hollow and echoed through my head, nothing sticking. I didn't care about his sacrifices. All I could focus on were those damned papers in remorse and heartbreak. I should have left the file where it was. I'd made things difficult for not just myself, but also for Edward. I was such a stupid, stupid girl.

I looked over at the shelf once again, wishing I could tune him out, wishing I could go hide somewhere so that I could sob and wail and beat something. Through my blurry, tear-filled vision, I saw the teapot, the baseball, the army man, the teddy bear, the cup, and the shoe box and I could no longer bring air into my lungs.

The shoe box. It was mine.

It had come from a ritzy department store that Edward had taken me to before one of our false dates, and it had held the money I'd been so carefully hiding away.

I looked around the room once more, at artwork and mismatched books, small statues, jewelry, and wine glasses, and tea cups, and figurines, and I spotted a gray flannel hat, and realized what it all was: Carlisle's twisted version of a trophy room. The one shelf that held such random, precious things to have their own space must belong to his family. And the other things, were they items that had belonged to people he crossed paths with? Were they representing people he knew, or loved, or people he'd killed?

The truth was laid before me in every single article that littered the insane room.

Carlisle was not a collector of things, but of people.

"...that belongs to Bella will now be yours, of course, and until I feel I can trust you again, Jasper will be keeping track of all of your funds. This time, I'm giving you both a warning, only because you're family. If you attempt anything like this again, there will be much harsher consequences. You are the future of this family. I need you to start acting like it."

"What?" I asked, my aching head not comprehending what was being said. I blinked and felt tears slipping down my face. Edward finally looked at me. He was concerned that I hadn't yet healed. Or maybe he was wishing he hadn't given me the file – the money – in the first place. I'd gotten him in trouble, but why would anything that I owned be his? I no longer had anything for him to own anyway. It didn't make sense. The only items that I'd had to my name were a stack of papers covered in ink and tape, a shoe box – that apparently now belonged to Carlisle, along with the money inside I also assumed – and my pride and dreams and hopes that were now nonexistent, that had floated around like the dust motes behind Edward's head, soon to be scattered and gone and… nothing.

"Edward was instructed to send a message to Aro that you were now one of us and he failed. This time we're sending a much clearer message."

I looked to Edward, one large hand covering the lower half of his face, his eyes boring holes into the spot on the floor where his eyes were fixated.

"I don't understand," I mumbled, as Carlisle began to stand and walk out of the room. His voice had been calm, unnaturally calm for a man who had just found out he'd been duped by his own family. The way he threw the papers back into the briefcase seemed more telling, and I flinched.

"You're going to become one of us permanently, Bella. Tomorrow, you're going to marry Edward."

The room spun around me and my stomach clenched painfully.

He was my boss.

He was my friend.

I couldn't…

"I'm surprised at your reaction, Edward. In light of what you've done, you should be thanking me. I'm giving you exactly what you wanted."

I looked over at him, wondering what Carlisle meant, but the look of defeat on his face told me everything.

We had no choice in the matter.

The door closed firmly behind Carlisle as he left us alone in the cramped, stuffy room; it was a blessing and a curse and the last place I wanted to be alone with him.

This was my fault. All my fault.

I'd ruined everything.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. He shook his head rapidly in response, his hand dropped to his lap.

"This isn't your fault, Bella. My plan was foolish. I should have known it would never have worked. We're lucky that it didn't get farther than it did."

So there had been no hope after all, then.

Time seemed to stand still as we sat together in a long silence, surrounded by other people's memories and dreams that were probably also snatched from them when they least expected it. The air around us seemed stifling and cold all at once.

I let out a long, shaking breath unable to hold back my emotions. I sniffled and he handed me his handkerchief. His initials were sewn into it with white thread in fancy script. "EM"

I started to ask him about the missing letter, but he spoke first, breaking the silence.

"Bella, I don't expect…" He ran both hands through his already disheveled hair. "This… thing… can be platonic between us. I never wanted children."

I could feel my face flaming red and I stared at the initials on his handkerchief, unable to meet his eyes, though I could feel that he was watching me, waiting for some type of response.

When I was a little girl, my daydreams of family had always consisted of a man who loved me, who would take me away from my evil mother to his castle, where I would be safe. Sometimes they would also include a baby who I'd be able to love and who would love me, and I'd pretend that I was the best mother who ever lived.

Now, I was far too old to believe in fairy tales and happily ever afters. Most women my age were already married and having children, but it wasn't something I'd allowed myself to even think about as an adult. As an adult, my only focus had been to survive and breathe and last through the night and focus and survive all over again.

In other circumstances, I'd have been grateful to have such a handsome man to call mine. In another life, he would have been down on one knee with a ring and a promise. In a life other than ours, we would have the choice to find whomever we wanted.

He took my hand in his, and it was sweet and unnecessary, and completely in contrast with the man I'd witnessed two nights ago in my apartment.

The only choice I had left was to accept my lot in life and make the best of my circumstances. The most I could hope for was that he would continue to be kind to me, that I would never have to be afraid of him. I looked up into his waiting green eyes and took a deep breath.

"Okay," I said, nodding slightly, agreeing to the unspoken question that he would never ask.

He smiled slightly, and there was something in his emerald green eyes that made my stomach do somersaults.

He wouldn't hurt me, I kept chanting to myself as he wiped tears from my cheeks with his large hands.

"I'm so sorry, Bella."

I was going to marry a man who was capable of killing with his bare hands, but could also gently wipe away tears.

I was going to marry my friend who had tried to help me escape and who would forever chain me to this life.

I was going to marry Edward Cullen.

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 **Several reviewers guessed that this would happen! What do you think? I am so nervous about this chapter!**

 **Thank you to the guest reviewer who pointed out a mistake that I made in wording on the last chapter. I've fixed that now, thank you. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much to all of the readers, followers, and reviewers!**

 **This chapter was edited by BeLynda Smith (sarcastic bimbo) and she's amazing. Thank you again, lady!**

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 _Breathe_

 _Breathe_

 _You can do this, stop being a coward._

I recited the words inside my head over and over, hoping that it would only take one more go before they stuck. The small room Esme had chosen to be the bridal room in their massive home smelled of fresh flowers and old wood; the only sounds were my shallow breaths and the occasional comment from the three Cullen women as they helped me to get ready. There was no joy in any of it. I wondered why we were putting so much time and effort into a ceremony that would likely only take ten minutes.

Ten minutes and then the rest of my life.

Mary Alice, Rosalie, and Esme had taken on the task of helping me prepare. My dress was borrowed from Rosalie, as she and Emmett had been married only five years before. It was an ivory-colored silk, the skirt full with layers upon layers of lace that also covered the bodice. It was far too long on my five foot, four inch frame to be fashionable, and a bit loose in the bust, but it was the loveliest thing I'd ever worn in my entire life.

"You look like a princess," Mary Alice said.

Based on the reactions that were garnered the previous night, I'd realized that the Cullen women were far more intuitive than the men gave them credit for. Edward had made his announcement as though he were discussing the weather, drawing obvious ire from Carlisle at his lackluster performance and also his lack of formal attire. He'd arrived to dinner in his shirtsleeves and without a tie again; this time with a button or two undone. His hair was the worst that I'd seen it, sticking out in all crazy directions.

"I have news," he'd said, in between the serving of the first and second course, "Bella and I are getting married. Tomorrow."

He'd continued eating, barely lifting his eyes to meet those of his mother or sister. Esme's troubled eyes met with mine.

"Oh!" was all that she had said, after a pause that lasted far too long to be a genuine response.

Emmett had broken the silence then, his loud, booming laughter filling the void, "Eddie, I didn't think you had it in you!" He'd turned to me, "So, when are you due?"

I'd covered my face with my hands, but not before noticing the way that Rosalie flinched.

"Emmett, this isn't polite conversation for the dinner table," Carlisle had said, "It's not our place, or our business, to judge why they're getting married so quickly. I'm sure that they're happy. That's all that matters." He'd looked to Edward on his left then and said, "Congratulations."

I'd stared at my plate, incredulous at his audacity, that he was allowing everyone to assume that we were marrying because I was in trouble. Edward tensed beside me. I'd noticed from my peripheral vision how his jaw clenched and his grip tightened on his fork, but he had said nothing.

"I wish we had had more time." Esme's voice interrupted my memory, as she lamented, once again, the fact that there had been no time to buy a proper hat or veil. I tried not to balk at the way my hair hung loose around my shoulders and back, tendrils falling in waves and curls.

 _You can do this. You can do this._

One shaky deep breath after another filled the otherwise silent room. If I didn't find a way to calm down, I'd be a giant sobbing mess while walking down the aisle, and I'd been told, in not so many words, that I was to be happy today. It was my wedding day, after all. Carlisle needed me to look happy in the photograph.

 _Breathe in._

 _Breathe out._

"You're going to pass out if you keep breathing like that."

It was the most Rosalie had spoken to me the entire afternoon.

"I brought some pearls," said Esme. She slipped them around my neck where they fell and covered the silver chain that lay against my skin. If they'd noticed the necklace that Edward had given to me, they said nothing of it. I hardly noticed it anymore, I'd been wearing it for so long.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she adjusted the pearls against my neckline. They were cold against my skin, but that wasn't what made me cringe. It felt wrong to lie to her, even inadvertently.

"Your eyes are puffy. Mary Alice, can you go down to the ice box and bring ice and a handkerchief? We'll see if we can get rid of those dark circles." I'd spent much of the previous night crying and beating my pillows until they were small piles of feathers surrounding me.

There was a kind smile on her face, and I smiled back. It seemed to make her happy to have someone to care for. It felt nice to _be_ cared for. Esme had shown me more kindness in the amount of time I'd known her, less than a month, than my own mother had in all of the years that I'd lived with her.

"Esme, I'm not-" I tried to explain, before Rosalie interrupted me.

"She just has way too much hair! I can't get it all pinned in time."

"Leave it down," Esme said, then changed her mind at Rose's shocked expression. "Alright. Hand me some pins. Mary Alice, you take the back, I'll get the right side."

Thirty minutes later, after pins were painfully stuck into my hair, long applications of ice under my eyes, and makeup had been applied, they all began to gather their things and head towards the door to get ready themselves.

"You look gorgeous, Bella," Esme said as she kissed my cheek and hurriedly left the room.

"Thank you," I said quietly. The reflection I saw in the mirror was of a woman that I didn't know, and I quickly looked away. They'd pinned my hair in a much looser style than I was accustomed to wearing; the front framed my face in loose waves and was pinned in the back into a bun, along with several tiny braids which had been executed by Mary Alice. They'd made me look stylish and smart and almost like a princess. A large bouquet of flowers had been placed in my shaking hands.

I wasn't alone for very long before Rose came back into the room, quickly closing the door behind her. She walked up to me, with a look of determination on her face, and removed the flowers from my hands, placing them on the dresser top beside us. She placed her hands on my upper arms, gripping them in an almost painful grasp.

"You're a milquetoast, Bella," she said, her expression serious and grim.

"What?"

"Everything you're thinking is always written all over your face," she said. "Do better. If you don't, you'll be eaten alive."

She turned away from me and rushed toward the door.

"You know?" I managed to stammer before she left completely. She looked through the door, I assumed to see if anyone was watching. "You know what they do?" I whispered.

Edward had told me that none of the women in his family knew anything about their criminal activities, their true profession.

Rose turned on her heels to face me. "Of course I know!" she said in a loud whisper. "They'd like to think that we're idiots, that we don't know that they put themselves in danger every time they walk outside their damned door—" She stopped, her voice breaking, and I knew she was talking about Emmett.

"I used to just go along with it all, pretend that I was above their strict rules and laws, and that I could eventually do whatever I wanted." She swiped tears angrily away from her cheeks. "I was wrong. They all follow him blindly; they tell him everything, every intimate detail - even if it hurts themselves in the long run. It's as if he's God and they're his faithful worshippers.

"Edward is different, though," she said, "or he seems to be. I don't know why, or if it's just an act. Just… be careful. You are going to have to grow a thicker skin, Bella. Don't let anyone see that they've hurt you.

" _Do. Better."_

She emphasized each final word before she turned around again and left, leaving me alone with my flowers and ridiculous reflection and I realized she was right. No amount of makeup could hide the way that I felt inside: a small, frightened girl who was following yet _another_ path laid out for her by someone stronger and more important than herself.

I was spineless.

For far too long I'd run from my demons, hiding under my blankets and hoping they'd go away. My fear had driven me to the place that I was in, trapped by my own cowardice in a situation over which I had no control, in a gilded cage in their lavish house. I walked to the door, half expecting it to be locked. It wasn't.

 _He_ knew I had nowhere else to go.

I lurked through the hallways quietly, my heart in my throat, and walked up to Carlisle's office door three times. Being so close to his office, and him, made me feel ill-at-ease.

I raised my hand once more, the final thought of possibly being able to free Edward from this marriage, the catalyst that pushed me to take action. I would talk Carlisle out of it, convince him that I was the wrong woman for his son.

I was the wrong woman.

So I knocked.

"Come in, Isabella," Carlisle called from the other side of the door. I hated the sound of him using my formal name, and the fact that he knew I would be here when I hadn't even been sure of it myself. I hesitated, opening the door slowly. He was sitting at his desk, a stack of paperwork in front of him, a silver pen in his hand. A pipe sat near him, the small delicate tendrils of smoke wafting through the air like incense.

"Close the door behind you, please."

"You knew I would come."

"I knew you would eventually seek me out on your own." He glanced up at me and the wrinkles on his forehead were more prominent. "I didn't expect you to wait until right before the wedding to do so. You have some questions, I assume?"

Anger flashed through me. He'd wanted me to make the first move, but he clearly had the upper hand.

I refused to beg for crumbs.

He saw the expression on my face and smiled. "You remind me of your father. I saw that same expression on his face more than once."

His admission blew the wind out of me. "You knew my dad?"

With that one revelation, I was once again under his thumb.

He pulled out a small key that was attached to his belt, the kind that was used for small jewelry boxes or filing cabinets or desk drawers, and a flash of pain and the image of a key bathed in a river of red and feelings of heartache swam through my mind.

I closed my eyes tightly and shook off the feeling as he opened his desk drawer and rifled through a file. I peered over the desk to see that it was one that was crammed full of things. He caught me watching and I backed farther away, sitting in a chair that sat opposite his desk.

He pulled out a piece of cardstock. Though I was looking at it from the back, I could tell from the design on the edges that it was a photograph. He looked at it for a moment, a small smile on his lips, then he laid it on his desk and pushed it towards me.

I watched his face, suddenly unsure if I wanted whatever it was he had offered. He nodded slightly and I picked it up with shaking fingers and held it up to my face.

It was a wedding photo.

The bride and groom looked to be happy and in love. On either side of them, a man stood. I recognized Carlisle standing to the left of the groom, a wide smile on his young, handsome face. It took me longer than it should have to recognize the groom.

"Is this… Charlie?" I looked up at Carlisle and he nodded, smiling.

My dad was much younger than I remembered him. Through the thin mental images of a child, there were far fewer lines around his eyes and his hair was dark, like mine, but without the salt and pepper streaks that I remembered. He stood tall and proud and happy. There were days when I was living with him that I could remember him looking that way. But there were far too many days that he seemed lost in his own world, buried in a sadness that I was too young to understand.

"We were friends. I was his best man," Carlisle said.

It was hard to imagine my father becoming friends with a man like Carlisle Cullen.

Tears filled my eyes as I stared at my father's face, wishing that I could get one of his large bear hugs, wishing that a single photo showing his larger than life smile was not all that was left of him.

I shifted my gaze to the woman beside him. Though the photo was sepia toned, I knew that it was my mother. We shared the same large, dark eyes, the same heart-shaped face.

"I don't remember ever seeing her smile," I marveled to myself quietly. Carlisle chuckled.

"And who's this?" I asked him, turning the photo around and pointing to the other man, the one who stood beside my mother. He was shorter in stature than the other men, only an inch or two taller than the bride. His hair was dark and slicked back. Even from the somewhat grainy photo, I could tell that he wore a very expensively cut suit.

Carlisle's pale blue eyes met mine for a long moment, as though he was waiting, and for the first time since I'd met him, he seemed hesitant.

"That's Aro," he said, his eyes holding mine and I found I was unable to look away. "Your mother's father. Your grandfather."

I stared at him.

"That's why I'm here?" I asked my voice sounding puny and pathetic to my own ears.

He nodded and said, "That's part of it. I made a promise to Charlie before he died, that I would keep you safe."

"Why would I need to be kept safe from my own grandfather?"

He picked up his pipe and placed it between his teeth, sitting back in his chair. "That is somewhat of a longer story."

"Tell me."

It was a feeble demand, but he smiled once again, the lines in the corners of his eyes crinkling, and I wondered if this was the man that Esme had fallen in love with. He seemed a different person, as though procuring the photograph had transformed him into someone relatable. It didn't make him seem less dangerous, only more human.

"Aro was never exactly… stable. It was rumored that he began to lose his mind when his wife died in childbirth." He gestured toward the photo with his pipe. "With your mother," he said.

I looked at the photo again; at her hair that I remembered and her face that I didn't.

"She was treated very badly under his care. I never knew the details, but when she met Charlie, she grasped at the chance to get away from Aro. She and Charlie met at a dinner and were smitten with each other immediately. He was a good man. When he found out that she was… in the family way… he agreed to marry her on the spot."

I looked up at him, surprised and shocked. She was pregnant with me in the photograph.

She liked whiskey. She didn't like to be hugged or kissed. I'd always just assumed that she was a horrible person. Now I wondered if her actions were due to her circumstances and upbringing.

"Do you know why she left my father?"

Carlisle shook his head. "He would never tell me."

I took a deep, shaking breath and I was afraid, but knew I'd have to ask the question.

"What is the other reason? Why is it so important that I marry Edward, and so soon?"

"Aro apparently thinks that you have something, some sort of information that was stolen from him. Something that could destroy him."

"I don't know anything. She never told me anything. She hardly even _spoke_ to me."

"That's what Edward told me," he said, and the thought that he was asking me all those questions just to report back to Carlisle was hurtful and it made me angry.

Rosalie's words echoed in my head, " _They tell him everything - every intimate detail. As if he's God."  
_  
I stared at the photograph again.

"If Aro was so horrible to my mother, then why does he look so happy here? Why was he even allowed at their wedding?"

Carlisle set down his pipe.

"You were not brought up in this life, so I don't expect you to know the way that we do things."

I chose to not let his tone offend me.

 _Do better, Bella._

"There are certain things that are ingrained in us at such a young age that we don't even remember learning them. We learn our place in our families before we're old enough to even know our own _names_. We learn that with our many enemies that want to destroy us, family is the most important thing that we have to live for. If I were to break it down into it's most basic form, Bella, there are two things that every one of us in this business live for: survival and legacy. There's no point in any of it: what we build, what we gain—without having a family to pass it down to. Your mother knew this truth, so when she married your father, it was never a question of whether or not she would have her own father at the wedding.

"Edward knows this truth, also. Though he isn't mine by blood, he's proven to be more fit for this life than any of my other children. Even despite his recent… discrepancies… he's the one who will take over for me, continue my legacy when I'm gone.

"Which brings me to this: I've given you the information that you wanted. Now I need something from you."

I tensed.

"What is it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"It's not that difficult, really. I need you to help ensure that this family, my _legacy_ , continues."

It was clear that he meant grandchildren. I could feel my face getting hot; the entire conversation had taken a turn that made me extremely uncomfortable.

"Why would I do that?" I became bold then, my mind in too much of an emotional overload to curtail my thoughts. "I came here to ask that you let him out of this. To let _us_ out of this," I said, gesturing to my beautiful, borrowed dress.

Carlisle smiled, a look of sadness in his eyes that I didn't understand. "I'm afraid that I can't do that. As much as I'd like to see him with someone who would be a bit more fitting…"

He paused and I blushed.

"No offense, Bella - but, you are far too frail - but I made a promise to my friend that I would make sure that you were kept safe. This is my way of fulfilling that promise."

I became desperate, grasping at straws. The more I learned about this life, this _legacy,_ the less I wanted it. "He doesn't want children," I whispered.

"Yes, I know. I also know how Edward feels about this family, about this business. I need you to convince him that he's wrong. Judging from the way I've seen him watching you when he thinks that no one is looking, I don't think it will be very difficult."

I stared at him, incredulous, knowing that the complete opposite was true.

"I think you're wrong," I said, and then after a moment, "What about Emmett and Rosalie?

"They're unable to have children, it seems. You'll have one year, which should be plenty of time."

"And what if I say no?"

He smiled at me and whatever humanity that had been shining through the surface disappeared. He reached into the file and brought out another paper, this one a note that had been written on a yellow sheet of paper ripped from a legal pad.

It was a crude picture of a terribly drawn girl with long, dark hair and comical, enormous eyes. In black ink, there were lines drawn on the wrists and ankles of the cartoon person and blobs of black ink surrounded her.

"What is this?" I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the drawing, but something within me felt the wrongness of it.

"This is our latest letter from Aro," he said, his voice grim. "At the moment, everyone who lives with and works for him is afraid to get near Edward - after what he did to their best man." He smiled, the look of a proud father doting on his son, and I could only assume he meant the way he'd killed the man who had broken into my apartment.

"Aro used to understand the way that the world works and the importance of family. Not anymore. This was addressed to _you_ , Bella. This is what he wants to _do_ to you."

I stared at the image, the dark drawing of a girl with, what I now knew was blood, surrounding her.

"So, you're telling me if I don't follow through on your plans…"

"I'll let him have you."

His words were delivered with an eerie calmness.

"But what about Charlie?" I asked, my voice higher and more frantic than I'd wanted it to be.

Carlisle stood and smoothed the wrinkles from his fancy dress suit. "I fulfilled my promise when you were a child. I'm giving you to my favorite son. From this point on, you are an adult. You have to decide your own way."

I looked at the cluttered mess behind his head, and the image in my hand, and wondered if perhaps they were all a little crazy—that maybe this life of violence left no one unscathed. I wondered what that meant for Edward, for Mary Alice, for Rosalie, for whatever children I was asked to bring into this world.

"Do I have your promise?"

There was nothing left for me to do but nod.

"Does… Edward know that Aro is my-"

"No. It's best that it remains that way. For now." He snuffed out his pipe and rose. "I'll give you a moment of privacy. Don't take too long to come downstairs." He patted my shoulder and turned to leave me alone.

"Wait." There was one question that was gnawing at me and I knew I'd forever regret it if I didn't ask, no matter what it cost me. "How did you know him? My dad?"

Carlisle's face softened and he looked down at me with an express that could almost be described as pity.

"He used to be my advisor."

* * *

 **I haven't had a lot of time to respond to reviews, and I apologize for that. Please know that I appreciate each and every one of them. It's still amazing to me that anyone is reading my words. What an honor. Thank you.**


	7. Chapter 7

I apologize for the slight delay in this update. Life has kept me from writing. Thank you to all of you beautiful readers who have rec'd and favorited and followed this story! Kisses to all of you! I can't always respond to it all, but it makes my day to see them in my inbox. Thank you so much!

Thank you, BeLynda Smith, for catching all of my dumb errors!

I do not own Twilight or Edward or Bella. Sad, sad, truth.

* * *

 **The wedding was to be held in Esme's garden, and the flowers wilted in protest. Two rows of low lying flowering bushes created a natural aisle growing into the base of a whitewashed arbor that stood in the back half of the garden: pink, white, and red roses growing up, over, and across both sides of the lattice. Blooms were everywhere in every vivid color imaginable, but the harsh weather had caused more than half of them to shrivel and droop. I pressed my head against the pane of my third-story window and pretended they were my allies sharing in mourning for my lost freedom.**

A traditional Irish ceremony had been chosen—as much of one as could be pieced together in under twenty-four hours. Fortunately for Esme, who lived in a beautiful mansion with servants, a giant garden, and crystal and china dishes, it hadn't been an impossible task to accomplish, though she'd fretted and worried over every detail all morning.

With shaky breaths and flowers in hand, I waited and watched. People had begun milling around in the garden below me, some taking seats in the uncomfortable folding chairs that had been placed in perfect rows. There was the small Cullen family in attendance, of course, but also others who I had never seen before. Altogether, the guests totalled around twenty, a small party for a wedding. I wondered if they were neighbors or possibly family that I would have to meet. Four men in fancy zoot suits and fedoras sipping punch from their crystal glassware walked into my view and I jerked away from the window, afraid they'd see me. It was an absurd thought, since they were quite obviously there to see me getting married. They were one man short from the first time I'd seen _them_ in an Italian restaurant, but I knew exactly which family they belonged to—mine. My eyes searched frantically for Aro, and when I couldn't find him, an odd feeling of disappointed relief washed over me.

The unsettling knowledge of my past brought with it a sense of hopelessness, as well as a feeling of acceptance. Finally, I could pinpoint the origins of all the violence and heartbreak and tragic circumstances that had plagued my life. The truth settled a gnawing, gaping hole that had been eating away at my insides for far too long - and at the same time, opened up a fresh, new wound. The knowledge that not one person in my whole life had been honest enough to tell me who I was cut deep. I should have known, been prepared, been told … something.

The bitter feeling of betrayal had overridden the fear after Carlisle had shown me the truth. Not wanting to be alone with Aro's disturbing drawing, or Carlisle's collection, I'd left almost immediately after he had. The wedding photograph, I took with me. I decided I'd deal with whatever consequences befell me later.

And then there was the matter of Edward.

 _Edward._

I'd spent my entire adult life shying away from any kind of attachment with men. If one spoke to me on the street, or gave me a compliment, I'd pretend I didn't hear him. I'd walk the other way. It was irrational and stupid. It made me look cold and pretentious, but I'd always been afraid that any of them could be the murderer I'd been so fearful of my whole life. And the first time I took the time to respond to a man, the first time I befriended a man, it was one who had no qualms in killing. He'd said he didn't _want_ to hurt people - but he _did_ hurt people.

And I'd been tasked to hurt him. Not physically, but if I went through with the promise I'd made to Carlisle, it would hurt him. I'd be forcing him into a life that he didn't want. He didn't want children. He didn't want me.

I'd developed a strange bond with him, though I barely knew him. I worried about him, which made no sense at all. If anyone could take care of themselves, it was Edward Cullen. He'd proven that several times, and though I knew he'd never hurt _me_ , I feared that I'd have to witness his capacity for violence again. There was potentially a lot of time between now and the rest of our lives. The fact that I'd only witnessed him harm people that were, in turn, trying to harm those in his family was not lost on me.

I wondered what would have happened if I'd just once said hello to someone else on the street.

I turned from the window and stared down at the photograph in my lap, at my parent's happy faces and wondered what emotions they had felt on their own wedding day. It must have been so much easier for them, to marry for love and without impossible complications and demands. I wished that I could have had that, even if only for the brief period of time that they had shared it.

More than anything, I wished I could talk to Charlie. I wished I could find out what kind of man he was before he became a police officer. What was his life like when he was younger, that he'd taken on such a dangerous, abhorrent profession? When and how had their marriage fallen apart? Why did my mother take me with her? Why didn't Charlie tell me who he was, who I was? I had too many questions that I'd never have answers to.

It was a loss made even more profound by the fact that it was my wedding day, and my dad wouldn't be walking me down the aisle. It wasn't something that I'd even wanted before, but with the minutes quickly passing, and nothing to occupy my time other than staring at an old wedding photo, the significance of what was about to happen made me feel nostalgic for my father and the moments we'd never have together. I missed him. I was angry with him.

I felt trapped in my own skin, my anxiety more pronounced at each tick of the clock that obnoxiously marked every minute closer to the wedding march that would soon be playing.

I wasn't ready.

It was too late to feel sorry for myself.

A knock sounded at the door, and I hurriedly hid the photo away in the bottom of the nearest dresser drawer to retrieve later.

"Come in!" I called, breathless, as I stood and quickly checked to see how badly I'd messed up my face. I was expecting Esme to be there to fetch me. Edward's tall frame walked through the door instead, and his sudden, unexpected appearance caused me to be frozen in place. He quickly closed the door before turning toward me.

Dressed in a well-tailored black suit, his auburn hair slicked down with Brylcreem, he looked like a movie star - only in vivid color - his green eyes striking. I'd never seen him looking so polished and smart. He was gorgeous. None of the leading men in the movies looked as handsome as he did.

He seemed to be taken by surprise by my appearance also, and we stood in silence, looking at each other; his eyes settling on my face.

"You're beautiful," he said, softly.

"Thank you. So are you." I answered back, without thinking, wincing at my response.

"I don't have a lot of time," he said, "but I was going over vows with the priest," the word "vows" created a sudden panic in my chest, "It occurred to me that I was about to promise a lot of things … but from now on, I don't want there to be any secrets between us."

My eyes darted over to the dresser drawer of their own accord and the very large secret that it held.

He rocked back and forth on his heels and started to run his hands through his hair, seeming to think better of it at the last moment before shoving them into his pockets. He was so visibly unsure of himself that it was endearing and confusing and a side of him I'd never seen before.

For someone who had professed to having little time, he took a while to speak. Every second that passed made me more anxious. Already on information overload, I wasn't sure how much more I wanted to learn—about anything.

He pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit. I laid the flowers down on the nearest surface—the white coverlet on the bed—and sat, careful to not snag the tiered layers of Rosalie's lace dress.

"Did you know that we're the same age?" he asked suddenly. The question took me by surprise and it took a moment to sink in. I shook my head no.

He hesitated and I watched as uncertainty, and then resolve, washed over his face.

"Once Carlisle took us all on a road trip, just me and Jasper and Emmett. He said he was going to visit a friend. We drove all the way to Forks, Washington."

My eyes widened, and I felt stupid for not catching Emmett's blunder from before: the dinner when he'd grumbled about Washington state. The knowledge that Edward was once in my world, in the only small spot of peace that had been mine for a brief moment in time, made me happy. I wasn't sure why.

"I don't know why we were there. I don't know how your dad was involved with Carlisle. He only said they'd been friends for a long time. I'm sorry that I don't know more."

 _I know about their friendship; I know about my dad,_ I wanted to tell him. Instead I quietly said, "I had no idea you were there."

I felt like a traitor.

"He probably didn't tell you. I remember being excited to go anywhere outside of Chicago, especially since it was just the guys. It seemed special for some reason." He laughed sardonically. "It was the only time he took us anywhere. When we got there, though, Charlie wasn't expecting us. He seemed on edge and irritated. He wouldn't let us in the house," his eyes met mine for the first time since he'd begun speaking and his voice became soft, affected, "But I saw _you_ through the open window. Your hair was down and you were at a blackboard, doing some kind of complicated Math problem."

And after the initial embarrassment and startling truth that he'd seen me and thought anything of me at all, it hit me, that all of the visions of numbers on a chalkboard had been real memories and not some trick of my imagination due to head trauma.

"Do you remember what I was writing?" I asked, suddenly more fixated on that one part of his memory more than the rest.

"No." he said distractedly. He dragged a hand through his hair then, messing it up completely. "What I'm trying to tell you is … this is all my fault. The reason I know that we're the same age...it's because Carlisle brought it up to Charlie. He said he'd heard that Charlie had you back and he wanted to meet you. He mentioned that you were twelve and I was also at the time."

He took a deep breath and continued, his words tumbling out, one on top of the next. He seemed vulnerable and weak, and it made my heart stutter inside my chest. The instinct to reach out and touch him—comfort him—was strong, but my hands remained firmly clasped in my lap.

"I was young and impressionable, and we'd just had a long conversation about what's expected of us … how we're all supposed to get married and have children to carry on our traditions, and the business, and I was just thinking about how pretty I thought you looked with your hair down in waves and how you seemed to be really smart." He took a breath. "When he asked me if I thought I might like to marry you one day, I said yes."

I was unable to look away from him, from his guilty expression that seemed more genuine than any reaction I'd ever seen from him. He had told me the gift of the savings account would not be enough of a repayment, and I now knew why. He blamed himself for this path that I'd been placed in, blamed himself that we were being forced together. I desperately wanted to tell him everything in return, to show him the photograph, to let him know that it wasn't his fault; it wasn't anyone's fault. Neither of us had a choice at all, but even though I knew I'd one day regret my action, I said nothing. I feared for what Carlisle would do if I told Edward the truth. I feared for the punishment that Carlisle would dole out if I disobeyed. I selfishly feared for my own safety and if he'd retaliate by throwing me at Aro's feet.

Guilt and anger weighed so heavily on my body, that I felt physically ill, and I hated Carlisle for putting a wedge between us, for making me keep secrets before we'd even had the chance to build any sort of foundation of trust between us, for destroying our tenuous friendship from the inside out.

"I guess he didn't forget that conversation," he continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil, too wrapped up in his own, "and he must have kept tabs on you somehow. He sent me out one day to find a girl matching your description roaming around in the city. It seemed like a ridiculous, impossible task. But sometimes he does that; he sends us out on wild goose chases, waiting to see how badly we'll fail. But that day, I spotted you and I don't know how I knew that you were the same girl. I just _knew_ , and when I saw you, all I could think was, ' _Not her.'_ "

He swallowed hard.

"I almost left you alone. I almost wish I had. You just looked so lost. I was naive enough to think that maybe I could help you. All I've done since then is destroy everything for you even more."

I knew what he was thinking of: the murders that I'd been forced to witness, the fact that I was knee deep in the criminal activity just like the rest of them, the marriage that I was being forced into to ensure my safety. I wondered if it was all Carlisle's plan all along, and Aro's man attacking me had simply been the catalyst to put it all into place. But why me? Just because I was the daughter of Carlisle's friend? He'd even admitted that he didn't think I was a good match for his son.

Edward seemed so genuinely apologetic, and my own guilt felt like an elephant on my chest. I stood and leaned up on my toes to smooth down his wayward hair with shaking fingers and his eyes closed in response. Carlisle's words filtered through my head,

" _I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is looking."_

It wasn't true, though. He simply felt guilty.

"It's not your fault," I whispered, wishing that he could see everything that I wanted to say. I realized that to say nothing more was a lie. To tell him the truth might put us both in danger. I hated myself. I hated Carlisle. I hated our circumstances.

"There's something else I need to say. We're going to be expected to say traditional vows, but…" he took a deep breath and looked into my eyes and said, "I won't expect anything from you. I promise you that I'll never raise a hand to you. You'll be _safe_ with me. I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe from harm."

It occurred to me that the words he spoke were his version of wedding vows, and butterflies erupted in my stomach. I was hyper aware of his warm touch and the perfect way my hands rested in his.

"I swear to you, Bella, if there's ever a chance I can make a way for you to escape, I will." he said, his softly spoken words bringing tears to my eyes.

"You could let me go now." I whispered, afraid that someone would hear me.

Always afraid.

"If I do, someone else might find you." he whispered back, and I could tell by the sincerity in his eyes that he believed it. "I know I haven't given you any reason to, but please trust me."

A long moment passed as we looked at each other and I didn't see my boss, or a criminal, or a murderer, but a human being who genuinely wanted to help me.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he said, "This is my fault. I'm going to make things right. I promise you."

"Thank you." I said, looking down at our joined hands. I couldn't think of anything to say in response. It wasn't as though our marriage was going to be of the conventional variety with the normal expectations of love, intimacy, hopes and dreams. I had nothing to offer him, except…

"I promise to never stand in your way. If you ever… if you ever meet someone and want to be with her, I won't stand in your way."

"Bella—"

"I'm not finished," I said quietly, quickly interrupting him. The last thing I wanted was for him to offer senseless platitudes. We were both adults. There was no need to pretend that there was more between us than a friendship based on mutual circumstances and shared suffering. I needed to offer him the only freedom he could possibly have in what would be our sham of a marriage.

"No one deserves to have every choice in their life made for them. I hope that one day you'll be happy. I want that for you," I said.

The truth of my statement resonated within me. No one deserved to have every choice made for them. I decided then and there that I wasn't going to follow through on Carlisle's plan. I wasn't going to let my own fear cause ruin and destruction in Edward's life. I couldn't be deceitful to my only friend.

"I promise to be a friend to you, no matter what," I said. It was all I had to give, and it seemed feeble compared to his promises. I couldn't promise to keep him safe. I could barely keep myself from going under.

"Thank you," he said quietly, also staring down at our joined hands. "I promise the same to you. I won't stand in your way."

He seemed lost in thought for a long moment before he asked, "Is it alright if I kiss you at the wedding?"

A thrill ran up my spine at his innocent request and the thought of his lips on mine again.

"Yes," I replied, too quickly, feeling the heat creeping up in my cheeks. Quiet washed over us as we stood close together.

"Bella, promise me one more thing, please." As our eyes met he said, "Promise me that if you ever get the chance to run, you'll say goodbye first."

I'd given up on the idea of running. My chance was over, my fate sealed the moment I walked into Carlisle's office—no—the moment I was born. He seemed to need to believe that I could, though, so I nodded.

"I will," I said.

We both smiled at my words that were unintentionally more like regular wedding vows than anything else we had said.

In my head and my heart, I vowed to him:

 _I promise to be good to you. I promise to be a friend and an ally. I promise to not hurt you in the way that I've been asked to do. I promise to protect you as much as I'm able._

I smiled up at him, hoping that it would mask the inexplicable pain that I was suddenly feeling inside. I'd caught small glimpses before, but for the first time I felt like I was truly seeing _him,_ and what I saw made me want something _more_. For the first time, I wanted more than friendship, and it was frightening and heartbreaking and right and completely wrong.

I told myself that it was only our bizarre shared circumstances that made me suddenly want more than friendship.

It was only because of his incredibly selfless act in trying to keep me safe and giving up his freedom to do so.

It was only because of his admission of finding me pretty so long ago, and some long buried romanticism that I'd once held suddenly coming to the surface.

"There's one more thing," he said. He seemed slightly embarrassed, which was nothing like the confident man that I was used to. "I know our visits to the dress shop downtown were hardly your favorite … but I thought, just in case…" He smiled at me and walked away from me toward the door. My hands felt empty and cold and I clasped them in front of me for comfort as I watched him open the door.

The sales girl from the shop walked in with a large rack overloaded with dresses, all of them some variation of white.

I gasped and stared at him, mouth agape.

"It's all off-the-rack," he said, shrugging, smiling slightly. "You look lovely in Rosalie's dress, but I thought you should have something of your own."

"Thank you," I said, once I was able to speak. I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude, tears welling in my eyes. It was another thing I hadn't realized I'd wanted. He had somehow known.

"I'll leave you to it," he said as he shoved his hands in his pockets," I'll be waiting outside when you're ready," he said smiling meekly. I caught a glimpse of something that looked like sadness in his eyes, though, before he turned around and left, closing the door behind him.

I'd meant what I'd said: I wanted him to be happy. There were so many things that I was unsure of, but that I knew for certain. I also knew that he'd never be happy with me. Carlisle was right, I wasn't suited for Edward. He needed someone stronger. He'd find someone stronger.

The thought was somehow just as unsettling as all of the other revelations of the day.

* * *

I knew the dress that was meant to be mine as soon as I slipped it on over my head and the off-white material cascaded to the floor. The entire dress was made of a single layer of intricate lace that had been created with images of Springtime: trailing roses, baby's breath, leaves, and daffodils. The sleeveless bodice was fitted, and the square neckline showed off my string of pearls that Esme had loaned me and also the rose pendant. A full skirt flared out slightly at the waistline of the dress and fell like a waterfall to the floor, where it draped down around my feet. The wide band at the bottom of the dress was created in a beautiful scallop pattern that added to the delicate beauty of the design and accentuated the rest of the details, making them even more extraordinary. It was a masterpiece.

"Well, you have good taste." the girl, whose name I learned was Emily, said. "I'm sure he won't be able to resist you in this."

Quietly, I laughed and said nothing else.

A veil, with trim that matched the hem of my dress, was pinned into my hair and Emily left with the large clothing rack in tow. I hoped he'd paid her well. I stared at myself in the mirror, at the woman in the reflection. I felt beautiful. For once, I felt like I was worth something. In a moment of spontaneity, I reached beneath the veil and began to rip pins from my hair, leaving long, dark tresses to fall in waves down my back, tradition be damned.

I took several deep breaths and reached for the doorknob, but he beat me to it, pulling it open. Whatever he had been about to say died on his lips as he saw me. I watched as his chest rose and fell suddenly and his green eyes flashed with something I wasn't familiar with, but made my insides alight nonetheless.

"Bella," he said simply, the look in his eyes nothing short of adoration. I wanted to memorize the look in his eyes to replay over and over for the rest of my life.

"It's … the dress is beautiful. Thank you."

Carlisle cleared his throat behind us.

"I believe it's tradition for the groom to _not_ see the bride before the wedding."

In response, Edward wordlessly extended his elbow, a comforting smile on his lips as he offered his arm for me to take. I followed his lead, doing my best to ignore the eyes that were boring into both of us as we walked down the staircase and into the blazing sunlight toward our fates.

"We'll get through this thing together," he said to me softly when he broke tradition and walked me down the short, natural aisle. I was certain he'd done it just to annoy Carlisle: the only bit of resistance he could show in light of our circumstances. I didn't care why he did it, I was grateful that Edward walked it with me, thankful that I didn't have to walk it alone.

Once we reached the altar, he took both my hands in his, causing an inexplicable chill up my spine, despite the stifling heat. Our wrists were tied together with wide blue ribbon, a slightly less offensive material than the traditional rope, to symbolize our unity—our forced unity.

I imagined I could see his reluctance, his own internal struggle, in his troubled green eyes and feel it in the gentle grip of his fingers around mine.

The priest began to speak of marriage and God's plan for it, how we were pledging to belong to one another for the rest of our lives. The entire sermon felt misdirected: borrowed happiness, second-hand dreams.

The wedding lasted much longer than the ten minutes that I'd predicted; the priest seemed to enjoy the sound of his own high-pitched voice. He spoke on the sanctity of marriage as though delivering a monologue in a play. If only he knew the type of wedding he was officiating. I heard Emmett sigh as he stood beside his brother as best man, and I was sure they were melting in their three piece suits.

I had asked Alice to stand with me as my maid-of-honor. It'd made her happy that I'd asked. The radiant smile that, for once, finally reached her eyes was priceless.

I'd been to a couple of weddings. One was a girl's who I lived with in the boarding house and her beau who I'd met in passing, and another was for two co-workers who had fallen in love over their mundane daily tasks at the factory. It was a wholly different experience being the bride. the center of attention. I could feel twenty pairs of eyes on me, but none of them weighed heavier than Edward's. He stood before me, confident, tall, strong, male, his gaze never wavering. I tried to rely on his strength, to soak it in.

It was all I could do to not drop Edward's ring that was handed to me by Alice. The simple silver band seemed to weigh more than it should, and the gesture of slipping it onto his finger felt oddly intimate. My vows were fed to me by the priest, for which I was grateful, and my voice shook as I repeated the words.

"I, Isabella Marie Swan, take you, Edward, to be my husband." My vocal chords nearly failed me completely on the word. "In the presence of God, and before these witnesses, I promise to be a loving, faithful, and loyal wife to you as long as we both shall live."

It felt like a vice was being shackled around my ankles, chaining me to the spot where his hands held mine, until I saw something in his eyes: a shift, a change, a look that resonated so deeply within me that I shuddered and faltered and the last words barely escaped my lips.

The priest had to speak his name twice before he began to say his own vows, this time with no prompting. He'd memorized his lines, apparently.

The air around us seemed to still and I forgot about the eyes that were watching. Everything and everyone else seemed to fall away as I listened. breathless, as he professed his devotion and chained himself with the same invisible bonds.

" _I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching."_

It wasn't true.

He was only playing the game, following orders.

"I, Edward Masen Cullen, now take you Bella, to be my wife." I hated my formal name, and he'd refused to use it. We both smiled slightly. "In the presence of God, and before these witnesses, I promise to be a loving, faithful, and loyal husband to you as long as we both shall live."

I became lost in the fantasy of it all, that perhaps the beautiful man holding my hands would one day feel something for me. I wanted it. I wanted him.

It was a dangerous game, especially considering who the groom was, who I was, but it was my wedding day—possibly the only one I would ever have—so for that brief point of time I allowed myself to stupidly revel in it.

The ring that he placed on my finger was intricate, much like the necklace he'd given me. Two hands had been formed in the silver band, an emerald heart between them which was surrounded by diamonds. Green, the color I'd told him was my favorite as I had blushed and looked into his green eyes across a table. Above the heart sat a regal looking crown.

I'd never owned any jewelry before, and I now had two pieces that were more beautiful than anything I could have imagined. The pendant symbolized my place in his family, the ring my place by his side. Both were exquisite but tainted, neither of their meanings truly real.

I wanted them to be real.

The priest placed his hands over our bound ones and said words that I didn't hear.

His mouth was on mine then, his hand that wasn't bound to my own placed on my cheek. His warm kiss took my breath away. As quickly as it had begun, it also ended. He moved away from me and I almost imagined a look of regret that he had ended it so quickly. It mirrored my own.

A camera flashed as Edward moved closer to me and whispered in my ear, "Smile, Bella." and the spell was broken. The show was all that was left of my brief fantasy. His hand was still solidly in my own and I now carried his name, but he would never be mine.

I would never be his.

This would never be real.

My chest ached at the thought, as I realized that I cared more than I should.

I told myself that my sudden feelings were simply the reaction of the emotional stress I'd experienced in what had already been a very long, exhausting day. He and I were being thrown together under stressful circumstances, and I was overwhelmed. It was normal to want to form a bond over something so traumatic. To long for anything more than friendship would be a mistake, one that I knew I'd regret.

He kept up the act throughout the rest of the long, tedious afternoon, remaining constantly close. Esme and Alice gushed over our "romantic" wedding. Emmett made horrible jokes, and Rosalie and Jasper stood around looking indifferent, and we all did our best to fan ourselves with our plates and napkins at the elaborate luncheon that Esme had "thrown together" on such short notice. Carlisle seemed to dominate the priest throughout lunch, and I wondered what they could possibly have to talk about: a saint and a devil.

I was introduced to nearly everyone in attendance, and I realized that the four men had gone. They'd seen all that they'd needed to report back to their boss, apparently.

To my grandfather.

Eventually, Edward grabbed my hand, said quick goodbyes, and dragged me away from the small crowd.

"Where are we going?" I asked as he pulled me into the Cullen's darkened garage where his car was parked. "Home," he said. My mind had been so focused on the wedding and everything before it that I hadn't taken a moment to consider _after_. It hadn't even occurred to me that we would be leaving this place alone … together. He saw my face as we were approaching the car and said, "Not...not...I meant what I said before. I don't expect…"

"Okay," I said, smiling slightly trying to ease his discomfort, and I suddenly realized I'd left my photograph upstairs.

"I can't leave in this!" I said, gesturing toward my dress.

"It's yours, Bella. You can wear it for days if you want."

He walked toward me slowly, and the look in his eye, even in the darkness of the garage, made my knees weak. He stopped just before he was within arm's reach and suddenly turned away. It made me doubt myself and wonder if any of the ceremony had been genuine. It made me wonder if he did want me after all. If that was true—it wasn't—but if it was, we would be playing right into Carlisle's hands. I'd be doing exactly what I'd promised Carlisle I'd do and what I'd silently promised Edward I wouldn't.

Confused and frantic, I forced myself to turn away.

"I forgot something upstairs. I'll just be a minute." I said, running out of the garage and up the steps to the house as fast as my legs would carry me, ignoring Edward's call to "Wait up!"

I closed and locked the door to the third story room before he had reached the top of the staircase and rushed to the dresser. When I opened the drawer, the photo wasn't there.

"No!"

I rummaged through the folded sheets and linens, but it was no use. It was gone. I swallowed back the tears that were building at the back of my throat. He must have taken it back at some point during the day. I closed my eyes, and spent a long moment remembering my parent's faces, their smiles, their love that I would never have. A tear slid down my cheek.

Edward knocked. "Bella, I'm right outside the door if you need me."

I sat down on the floor and brought my knees up to my chest, resting my forehead against my arms, the delicate lace of my dress leaving marks on my skin.

I still loved my father more than I loved any other person on earth. I just wished he'd have confided in me, or left me with something to work with so that I could fight for myself instead of being forced to play by the rules of everyone else's games. He'd left me with a major disadvantage that made me weak.

I had a mind, and a soul, and a body, and a fierce will to live, and some vague memory of numbers. That was it.

The ring on my hand pressed into my arm and I held it out in front of me.

It wasn't a symbol of love or happiness, but it did stand for something; Edward's protection.

I was protected not just from Aro, but possibly also from Carlisle. He'd said it himself that everyone on Aro's side was afraid of Edward. I wondered if Carlisle might be also. Why would he choose me and go to such nefarious lengths to get Edward to obey, to follow his rules? It was because he couldn't make Edward obey him in everything. Rosalie had said he seemed to be different from the others. If the conversation I'd had with Carlisle had shown me anything, it was that he was losing traction with Edward. He was losing his control over his favorite son, his future, his legacy. He was no longer able to order him into obedience. Even Esme, his mother had voiced her doubts on my "choice" of a groom.

To an extent, many people were afraid of him—but I wasn't.

Between his strength and my relentless will to live, maybe we could work together and … do what? I wasn't sure. I wasn't certain if he even wanted to leave this life. He wanted me free of it, but he had power here—and wealth. Those things were very important to some men. I would have to tread carefully, be certain before telling him all of my secrets. After all of the disappointments that had fallen over my head the last few weeks, I knew better than to hope for anything, but the way he'd looked at me made me want to give him everything.

I took a deep breath, and in that moment, I decided that I was going to eventually tell him all of my secrets: the photograph, the truth about my mother, Aro, Charlie, everything. I'd tell him later, when things had settled down and we could truly be alone. When I was certain that there would be no immediate repercussions.

I had no choice in anything in _my_ life, but I could choose to not give in to Carlisle's demands. The thought of what he'd asked me to do made me feel ill. None of this was Edward's fault. I was going to have to be better.

For both of us.


	8. Chapter 8

Many, many thanks to BeLynda Smith for being so kind in fixing my blunders and for talking me down from ledges. 3

Thank you, readers, for hanging in here with me. Thank you for your patience and kindness and criticisms and follows and likes and favorites and reviews. It was encouraging during my hiatus to see that there was someone out there who still cared to read my writing. It was nice to have a bright spot in some of the dark days. I hope you enjoy this one.

I own nothing of Twilight. Thank you, Stephenie Meyer, for allowing your crazy fans to make up our own stories and continue our love of the characters. (Not that she reads these things, but still.)

* * *

Expansive, well-manicured lawns gave way to dreary, gray concrete as we drove from the suburbs and into the city. No one was waiting for us as we walked downstairs to leave, as I walked away from the photograph that should have been mine and into the carーand a lifeーwith a man who wasn't. Our drive back to the city was spent in relative silence; the only sound was of the night air whipping through the open windows of the cab, which was a welcomed relief after the sweltering heat of the day.

I laid my head against the seat of the car, taking advantage of the semi-darkness to watch Edward as he drove: his copper hair that blew in the wind, his long fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. He looked as tired as I felt; every so often his chest would rise and fall in a heavy sigh, and I wished I could know his thoughts. An odd, misplaced sense of pride curled up inside my chest as I watched his wedding band glint in the light of the street lamps, as they lit up tiny patches of the metal as we drove beneath. Did his ring weigh as heavily on his hand as mine did? I'd spent the entire afternoon fiddling with my ring finger, twirling the foreign-feeling band around it.

The foolish, childish part of me wanted to imagine that we were a normal couple: that he wanted me, and we were starting our lives together. It was a dangerous thing, to want. I'd learned the hard way that once a thing you wanted most in the world is gone, it's almost too hard to pick up the pieces and move forward. Once that thing is no more, it's nearly impossible to let it go. Lingering regret from not having Charlie, or my mother, or even their photograph, left me feeling bereft and empty. I couldn't fathom loving and losing one more person.

And I didn't love him. I wouldn't allow myself to be that foolish. But the memory of the look he'd given me in the garage, the tone of his voice as he said his vows, wouldn't leave me be. I knew I shouldn't dwell on it; it was only momentary. One day I would wake up and be alone again. He'd find love with someone who was better, stronger, and I would maybe be lucky enough to move back to Forks. Maybe. If I survived.

 _Aro is my grandfather._

 _I'm Aro's granddaughter._

I practiced the words inside my head in every configuration that they could be said, in every setting that I could possibly bring them up, and it all felt wrong. The wind made speaking impossible during the car ride, and I was selfishly glad. He glanced over at me when we reached our destination, as he began to parallel park in front of a very familiar building.

He opened my car door before pulling bags out of the back seat, and I stared up at the looming structure that towered over us and seemed to obstruct the sky. Though most of the buildings around us were lit, the windows in our own apartment building were dark.

"No sense in keeping up false pretenses now," I mumbled to myself. I still felt stupid for not knowing that there weren't any other tenants in the building. I would need to be far more observant of my surroundings in the future.

"You okay?" he asked. It was a perfectly normal question, but in our circumstances it felt out of place. Was I okay? The answer was a definite _no_. No, I was definitely not okay. No matter how our lives played out, I would not end up being okay. I was married to a crime boss who, despite his peculiar, overt kindness in regards to my welfare, was still a very dangerous man; and I had an insane grandfather who wanted me dead. Carlisle had spoken heavily on legacy in crime families. Maybe the legacy that had been passed down to my mother, to me, was the legacy of never being "okay."

I nodded.

"Is it safe?" I asked, directing the question toward him as I looked up at the familiar gray bricks and modern art deco designーwith its dangerous fire escapes that men could climb up easily. The memories and images of fear and violence were overpowering. I could still recall the feeling of hot blood running into my eyes from the gash on my head, and imagined the still-healing wound throbbed in response. A shiver went down my spine.

""It is," he said, as he walked over to me, setting suitcases down at our feet. Esme had sent us home with enough wares to fill up a new apartment, even though we'd both had things of our own,

"We did a good job today," he said, "Aro won't be bothering us again, if ever."

I took a deep breath and tried not to be affected by his words. I knew the wedding was supposed to be a show, just like our dates in the Italian restaurant were for show.

The thought occurred to me that maybe he'd looked at me that way in the garage because he'd just gotten too caught up in the moment. Maybe we both had. He was a much better actor than I was. Either way, I knew better than to believe that Aro would leave _me_ alone. The crude stick figure drawing was imbedded in my brain along with the other images I'd seen in my lifetime: reflections that haunted me in every small moment of peace and solitude, that I knew would never go away.

It felt wrong to tell Edward my secrets in the street, out in the open, so I said nothing. I wanted to ask him why he thought Aro wanted me in the first place, but that also felt wrong. I could still feel his eyes resting on me, and I forced a small smile and lifted my suitcase before he could grab it. We walked into the building together, completely alone.

"This is temporary for now," he said as he held the door open, "We'll move to a new place soon, something bigger, maybe."

He watched my face as he closed the door behind us, so I smiled and attempted to calm my frayed nerves and shaking hands as I looked around his apartment, _our_ apartment.

Coming from Carlisle's opulent suburban mansion, Edward's home seemed more humble, more habitable. The modest living room was covered in a chic, pale blue textured wallpaper that I suspected had been picked out by Esme, since it was the same pale blue that adorned many of the walls in her lavish home. Small elegant touches were sparsely scattered around the room in the etched glass and metal fixtures and area rugs. The side tables and mantle were free of clutter: there were no crystal vases sitting on the darkly stained wooden tops, no decanters or knick knacks that only served the purpose of being seen. The only clutter in the room consisted of a large wooden bookshelf that was crammed full of books. Large, dark, clunky furniture gave the only clue that it was a bachelor's apartment. It was simple, but nice, much like his work office. I noticed an upright piano placed in the corner of the room, closest to an outer brick wall that was lined with windows.

"That was you playing!" I said excitedly, remembering the nights that I'd sit with my window open, letting the breeze and the noises around me drift in.

"I play sometimes." he said, shrugging.

"Can I hear you play?" I asked eagerly. I wanted to know more about him. When had he learned to play? How many songs did he know? The vague memory of the music I remembered floating through my windows at night sounded like nothing I'd recalled hearing before. It hadn't been the vibrant swinging music that was playing everywhere nowadays; I seemed to recall a lot of low, somber notes.

He seemed uncertain. "Another time," he said.

I smiled and looked away from him and the piano. From the living area, there were five doors to other rooms, one of them obviously the swinging kind leading to the kitchen. Nervous tension filled me. His home would also be mine. I was invading his privacy, taking up space in his sanctuary. He was giving up a lot just to keep me safe. I felt his eyes following me, and I thought perhaps he was waiting for me to speak.

"It's really nice." I said.

"I want you to be comfortable. It's your home now," he said, "After a while, when we're certain things have calmed down, we can get you a place of your own."

He was still giving me options, a choice, and that was something I hadn't expected. I thought about living in my own apartment, how desolate it had been despite my autonomy and freedom to do whatever I'd wanted, when i'd wanted. The thought of living alone made me suddenly anxious. How odd that I didn't feel comfortable with the idea of living withーor apartーfrom him.

"I can show you your room," he said.

I sighed in relief to have a space to call my own. I was surprised, and slightly embarrassed when I walked into the doorframe, to find all of my things from my old apartment already in place.

"I hope you don't mindー"

"No, no!" I said, answering him before he'd had a chance to finish. "No. Thank you." I said quietly. A long pause passed as we stood awkwardly in the doorway, trying not to look at each other.

"I'm sure you're tired," he said finally. In other circumstances, it might have sounded like a dismissal, but he seemed more concerned than annoyed. I was tired. I was bone weary. I walked further into the room, if only to break the odd tension between us. The dress that I'd worn at the wedding hung on my forearm making it ache, through a stupid, childish part of me hadn't wanted to take it off and didn't want to set it down.

"I'll leave you to it," he said, mirroring his sentiment from before when he'd left me to pick out the wedding dress.

"Edward," I said, catching him before he left completely to go through the door of what must have been his own bedroom. Our eyes met and held, and I nearly forgot what I was going to say. In the much smaller space, it seemed too intimate to be using his first name. "Thank you ... for everything today."

"You're thanking me?" he asked, his voice soft but clearly incredulous.

I supposed it was stupid, to thank him for things that never should have happened in the first place, for a wedding that I'd never wanted. But he'd made me feel more special than I could recall ever feeling before in my entire life. I couldn't find the right words to say, so instead I just smiled slightly and mumbled, "The dressー"

"Oh," he said softly, "It wasn't a big deal. I was just remembering the fuss that went into Rosalie and Emmett's wedding and thought you might have wanted to have that," he said, hesitating slightly, "the fuss."

"It was kind of you."

He looked at me oddly, his expression perplexed, and I wondered if it was because a normal girl in my situation would probably be angry instead of grateful, or if it was because there weren't very many people in this world who used the word 'kind' to describe him. Either way, it was most likely the only wedding I would ever have, and it seemed important that he know I appreciated his thoughtfulness.

A loud hum startled me, and for the first time I realized how much cooler the room felt.

"You have an air conditioner?" I half asked, half exclaimed as I turned toward the window. A large metal box took up space in the bedroom that was now mine. It was the most beautiful monstrosity I'd ever seen.

He smiled, " _You_ do. Didn't you have one in your apartment?"

"No! It was stifling!" I said. "You were there, didn't you notice?"

I immediately regretted bringing up that terrible night, because his smile instantly disappeared making my own smile fall. I couldn't remember if I'd ever seen him seem genuinely happy about anything. For a fleeting moment, it was beautiful. I wanted to see it again.

"No, I don't remember..." his voice drifted off and he turned toward the door. "I'm going to call it a night." He raked a hand through his thick auburn hair that, after the long day and the windy car ride, was now hopelessly mussed, making him look like a mad person.

"Okay," I said quietly.

"Goodnight," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly and turned into the hallway, closing the door to his room.

"Goodnight." I whispered a few seconds too late. I closed my own door and noticed that there was a deadbolt on the inside of the doorframe. I stared at it for a few seconds but left it unlocked. An adjoining bathroom connected our two bedrooms, and I hesitated a long moment outside of my own door, deciding I'd rather just go to bed instead of taking the chance of walking in on him, or being walked in on. I took a quick bird bath in the wash basin that was in the room, and slipped on a nightgown that had been put in my dresser. I tried to not think about the eyes and hands that had moved all of my unmentionables to my new room.

My wardrobe was completely full now of greens and silver and red and white, and now a full off-white wedding gown that took up all of the available space. I ran a hand through the fabrics, watching them all as they moved in fluid motion and then gently fell back into place.

 _This is not my life; it belongs to someone else,_ I thought to myself, both mind and body weary as I closed the door with a click and crawled into bed. Through the walls, I could hear Edward moving around in his own room, and it was comforting to know that I wasn't alone in the apartment, comforting to know that he wasn't going to be the type of man to demand his "rights." Exhaustion overtook me as my heavy eyelids closed.

 _It could be far worse,_ I thought as I drifted off to sleep. _I'm_ lucky _._

I dreamt of Charlie. We were outside in his front yard, tending to his rose bushes. I was happily rubbing dirt from my hands onto the front of my dress, surrounded by large evergreens and redwoods. I was wearing my wedding dress. The weather was cooler during this time of year, and there was a frost on the ground, but his roses were still blooming. They were all blood red, even the ones that I knew were supposed to be white. A small pool of the same color lay beneath each bush, mixing with the slush of snow that surrounded the ground all around us.

"That's odd," Charlie said, as he looked down at his roses, puzzled.

"What is?" I asked him, smiling brightly. I should have been so much shorter, but it was like I'd grown overnight. "Like a weed," he'd probably say. An emotion so close to joy was bubbling up in my heart, but that felt wrong and made me want to weep.

"I planted white roses here," he said, "I don't know why they're all coming up red."

"I like white roses," I said, smiling.

"I know you do. That's why I planted those," he said pointing over to the two lone bushes beside the house. They rested on either side of the front door and had grown so tall that they covered much of the front of the small house.

"Do you remember, Bella?" His tone suddenly changed, and he seemed upset with me. "Do you?"

"Yes," I said, shakily, afraid of making him angry. He was never angry with me. No, that wasn't true. He did get angry sometimes. He got angry when there were things that I should remember, but didn't. I was disappointed in myself. I was a smart girl. I should remember.

We were inside the house suddenly, and he was handing me another piece of chalk. My hands were covered in white powder, and I'd worn my last piece down to nothing. "Keep going," he said as he wiped the tears of frustration away from my eyes with rough, calloused thumbs.

"I've already done this one, Charlie," I said, my voice cracking.

"Do it again."

I sighed as I lifted the chalk over my head and forced my hand to form loops and circles. They were a jumbled-up mess on the blackboard that was now more grayish-white than black. Charlie had erased the marks and made me rewrite them over and over. I couldn't see what I was writing, but my hand made the motions without my brain telling it what to do, as if my hand was disconnected from the rest of my body, as if I was writing from a hazy memory.

Something warm and wet sloshed against my bare foot. I paused with the chalk in mid-air, fighting the urge to look down, to stay focused on what I was doing. My breath began to quicken as the wetness seeped over the folds of my long dress and over my other foot and I stared wide-eyed at the marks on the chalk board that held no meaning. I knew what I'd see when I looked down, but I did it anyway. Blood, thick and red carpeted the entire floor. Even though I knew it would be there, I screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

I woke with a start, my screams cutting through the nightmare and into cold reality. My arm hit something solid as a pair of strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, trying to calm me. The action made me even more frantic.

"Bella, Bella. It's okay." Edward said, letting go of me and backing away quickly as though I was some rabid animal that needed space.

"It's okay. You're safe."

He repeated the words as realization slowly washed over me and I fought for air and the feeling of horror became more of the embarrassed kind as I realized I was sobbing hysterically and I wondered how long I'd been screaming.

"I'm sorry," I croaked, my throat raw and sore. The right side of my bed dipped with his weight. "I'm sorry," I repeated as I turned away from him completely and wiped tears from my face.

"You don't need to apologize." he said, "I was hoping that the nightmares would go away after …" He didn't need to finish the sentence, I knew what he was thinking: _after the man who had killed your father was dead._ I cringed, knowing that he'd been listening to me all these nights that I'd been living here. How many times had he had to hear me screaming like a lunatic in the night? It was no wonder my old landlady had been glad to be send me packing. I groaned softly into my hands.

He reached out and gently touched my undone hair that covered my shoulder. I didn't move away. "Don't be embarrassed," he said, "We all have our own nightmares. You're not alone in that."

I looked over at him and wondered what kind of demons he had to face in the middle of the night. Our eyes met and I looked away. Images of what I'd been writing on the blackboard were still lurking in the blurry edges of my memory, but were flitting away faster than I could grasp them. It was just a stupid, random dream, but something about the details was unsettling.

"Do you always sleep with this much light on?" he asked softly, distracting me. The overhead bulb in the room was far too bright for whatever ungodly time of night it was, but I was always too afraid to turn it off. I'd often wake up with a pillow on my face; some saner part of my brain recognizing the need to block it out in my sleep. It took me longer than necessary to answer his question.

"Yes," I said quietly, my voice still broken.

"You're afraid of the dark."

It was more of a statement than a question, and I nodded, thankful that he wasn't laughing at the fact that I was basically a four-year-old.

"How do you get any rest like this?"

A curt laugh escaped me and he frowned. It was odd: I tried to recall the last time that someone seemed to show genuine concern for my well-being. Had Charlie been the last person?

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked after a long moment of silence, and the question took me off guard. It wasn't seemly for him to be in my roomーwhich was a ridiculous thought since he was now technically my husbandーbut still true. It wouldn't be a good idea to become attached. In that moment, though, all I could feel was my own heart aching for any kind of human contact or comfort. The desire to not be alone was far stronger than any rational thought, so despite my better judgement, I whispered into the room,

"No."

In some sort of unspoken agreement, he shifted slightly, and lay his head down on his upturned arm. I shoved my only pillow over to his side of the bed, and turned my back to him, lying on the farthest corner of it, giving him some space. More silence followed and my heart fluttered in my chest, as he lay close, his warm breath ruffling my hair.

"Good night, Bella."

Tears were still drying on my face, but a small smile curled on my lips at his soft words and the ludicrous fact that there was a man lying in my bed. I reminded myself that I needed to be careful. I was too old for schoolgirl crushes. The light was still shining brightly overhead as I dozed off. In my dream I thought I heard his soft voice as he hummed some nameless tune, and I fell into the first peaceful slumber I'd had in a very long time.

* * *

When I awoke the next morning, the smell of his aftershave was on my pillow and the scent of coffee wafted through from the kitchen and I breathed them in deep.

The clock beside my head read 7:15. Panicked, I jumped out of bed and ran toward the dresser. I was supposed to be at the office before 8:00. A soft knock sounded at the doorframe, and I banged my shin painful as I was threw a pair of stockings on the bed. His sudden deep voice startled me.

"Hello," he said from the open doorway. I threw some random articles of clothing over the stockings before remembering that he'd probably moved all of my things anyway.

"Hi." I said, feeling extremely emotional for some reason. And stupid. Extremely emotional and stupid. Surely he thought I was pathetic. Frantically, I attempted to pull my frizzy, sleep-mussed hair up into a bun, and then realized I was just in my nightgown, so I crossed my arms over my chest instead. I felt too exposed. Too imperfect.

"I heard you moving around." he said, gesturing with a coffee mug, oblivious to the fact that I was far too underdressed to be in the same room with him. Then I remembered I'd slept in the same bed with him in the very same nightgown.

"I can't cook, but I can make coffee. Sort of." he said with a grimace that made the corners of my mouth turn up.

"I'm sorry … for last night." I said, staring down at the floor and our bare feet.

""It was nothing," he said, "It's not every day I get to rescue a dame from a bad dream."

"And get cried all over. Every man's dream wedding night," I mumbled ruefully and instantly regretted it. His eyes grew wide and then he laughed loudly. I wished I could open a hole in the floor and move into it. I wished I could say more stupid things to hear him laugh again.

"That's funny," he said, still grinning.

"Aren't we supposed to be leaving about now?" I asked, desperate to get out of the apartment, and for him to leave so I could change into everyday clothes.

"Nooo," he said, dragging out the word as he frowned into his mug, "Carlisle is giving us some down time before we have to be back."

I knew exactly what that meant: Carlisle was giving me sufficient time to seduce my new husband so I could become pregnant sooner.

 _Aces._

I bit my bottom lip hard.

His coffee sloshed a little out of his cup and onto the floor, and he moved quickly to clean it.

"You know, this coffee is pretty terrible." he said, I'll go throw it out while you get ready. We'll get some breakfast somewhere."

He retreated behind the swinging door that led into the kitchen, and I gratefully closed my door to change into more acceptable clothing. Forty-five minutes later, we were both dressed and walking out of our building. He glanced at my hair, now neatly braided and pinned in place, but made no comment.

Anyone passing us on the street would assume that we were merely friends, or possibly a couple who had been together for so long, we no longer felt the need to ogle or touch each other at all times the way I'd seen other newlyweds doーthough I kept stealing glances at him while we walked. I wondered if Jasper was still following close behind, or if he'd relinquished the job to my new husband.

Breakfast, it seemed, was a bad idea. While most of the people in the small cafe were reading their newspapers or having conversations, Edward was silent and watchful, his eyes always roaming. He noticed every face that came in the cafe doors, every person who walked by the windows.

"Should I be concerned about something?" I asked as I finished my breakfast and set down my coffee cup harder than I'd intended, the porcelain of the cup clicking loudly against the saucer. His eyes shifted to me as he breathed deeply and exhaled in a slight laugh.

"Sorry," he said, "No. It's a habit I've picked up, I guess. It feels wrong to not be watchful at all times."

"That must be miserable." I said, frowning.

He looked down at his plate. "Sometimes," he said. "Most of the time, though, I notice things that other people miss. It's been a good skill to have," he said as he finally began to eat his breakfast, and I grimaced at the thought of cold eggs.

"What kinds of things?" I asked.

He stood slightly and moved his chair closer to mine and my stomach flipped and he spoke in a scandalously loud whisper that made me smile. "Well, that lady over there in the far corner," he said softly beside me, as I tried to covertly spy in the direction he'd indicated. "She's having an affair," he said quietly. She was dressed like a high roller, her hair and makeup in perfect order, her pin curls perfectly symmetrical, perfectly coiffed. She was still wearing her hat and coat, and both screamed uptown.

"And you know this, because…?"

"When she walked in, she pocketed her wedding rings on the way to the table. Before we leave, a man is going to walk in and join her. Just wait."

I shook my head and smiled. "Okay, what else?"

He continued eating and spoke between bites. "There's a cop behind you about to take down a deal,"

"What?" I whispered loudly, "Here? How can you possibly know that?" I began to turn around and he stopped me by touching my wrist, his wedding band grazing against my skin. My heart pounded in my chest.

"Don't look," he whispered.

We both glanced down at his hand on my wrist as he spoke, now in a more serious tone, "There's a holster in his jacket, and he's been reading the same page of the paper the entire time we've been here."

"So how do you know he's not just one of you guys?"

He smiled at that. "If he were one of mine, he'd be wearing a better suit," he said, continuing to eat, but my food had become a lump in my stomach.

"Should we leave?" I asked. My record wasn't exactly clean anymore, and Edward, well, he was definitely not on the up-and-up and hadn't been for probably a very long time.

"No, he's not in here for me," he said, grinning. "I'm just a young guy having breakfast with his beautiful wife." I could feel the heat rising in my face. "If he was coming for me, I'd know about it."

"How?" The flutters in my stomach seemed to turn to stone as I thought about the possibility of him getting caught. He was a criminal, though, and I used to think that all criminals deserve to go to jail. My reactions were officially all backwards and wrong.

"Are you worried about me getting in trouble with the law?" He continued to drink his tepid coffee. The waitress came to bring him a refill and he ignored the eyes she made at him. "Maybe one day it will all catch up with me. Not today,"

"Are you making all of this up?" I asked as she sauntered away, giving him ample opportunity to admire her body. He didn't seem to notice.

"Nope," he said, "just wait."

I shook my head and drank my coffee. Several minutes of silence passed. Edward caught my eye and winked as someone walked through the front door. A middle-aged man walked up to the woman and sat down. I could see the white mark of a wedding band on his left hand, a tell-tale sign that he was also married.

I looked wide-eyed at Edward and he smirked above his mug. He signalled for the waitress who came then to give us our bill.

"Thank you," he said, ignoring the eyes she was making at him as he handed her a twenty.

"How did you do that?" I asked.

"It's my own special ability."

"I have a special gift of my own, too," I said, smiling slightly, feeling foolish. I wasn't sure why I even brought it up, except that I had the urge to share, to tell him more about myself instead of holding things back.

"Oh yeah?"

"I'm pretty good at reading people. I can tell if someone is not an okay person."

I watched as the corners of his mouth turned up, but he hid his smile well.

"You don't believe me." I said.

"Bella, you did follow me on first sight, completely willingly," he said, trying and failing at hiding the laugher in his voice.

"Yes." I said, unwaveringly, and for once I met his gaze and held it.

"I'm not the good guy, Bella. You know that."

I thought of my bedroom door and the fact that I never had to be concerned if he was going to force his way into it. I thought of how he'd protected me, putting himself in harm's way. It was true, he wasn't a good guy, but he wasn't a villain either.

He shook his head slowly, the sadness etched in the lines around his eyes on on his brow.

"I would have thought your gift was with numbers." he said after a long pause as he gathered his coat from the back of his chair. "We've got to get you out of here before the second act." I looked over to the man Edward had pegged as a cop. He was looking out intently at a large man who stood on the street corner.

As we walked out of the cafe and out onto the street, I took note of his well-made pin-striped suit with a double breast, and the over-confident way he seemed to guard the street as if it was his rightful place, as if he owned it. Edward placed his hat on his head and kept walking, his eyes fixed straight ahead as though he didn't see him at all.

* * *

It was a Monday, and I wasn't used to having nothing to occupy my day. Six days of every week, I woke at 6:00, ate breakfast, braided my hair, got dressed, and went to work. Six days of the week, I sat at my typewriterーor at Edward's deskーand worked until 5:00 in the afternoon. And I'd had so many days off already. "Idle hands are the Devil's workshop" was a something my Aunt used to say, and it seemed I was beginning to understand her meaning. If I didn't find something to occupy my time, I was going to lose my mind.

The afternoon was uneventful, excruciatingly so. Edward sat in the living room reading the paper as I tried to find something to do. I attempted to tidy up an already remarkably clean bachelor's pad and washed the one coffee mug and the percolator that Edward had used earlier in the day. I stood in front of a bookshelf staring at his collection, but it felt wrong to touch any of it. I considered going to my room, but realized I didn't want to be alone. Awkward silence continued as I flitted from the couch, to the bookshelf, back to the couch, with no purpose or point.

"Alright, it seems I'm going to have to lay down some ground rules," he said, folding his paper as he stood from his corner of the living room.

"Okay…" I said, my voice wary.

I watched him as he walked over to the kitchen door and swung it open with a large hand. "This is the kitchen," he said. I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow at him, causing him to laugh. "It's all yours," he said. "This sitting room…" he opened his arms wide, paper still in hand, "is also all yours. Every single room in this house is yours. Everything from the doorway to the very backroom that I sleep in is yours."

I could feel heat coloring my cheeks at the mention of his room.

"All of it is yours. If you want to change something, change it. If you need some more pillows or frous-frous things to make it more comfortable, we'll buy them. Anything on any of those shelves..." he said, gesturing the book shelf that I'd recently left, "...is yours. The shelves are yours. If you want to take them apart to make something else out of it, have at it. You can burn the thing down if you want." I laughed at his absurdity and he said, "Just do whatever you would normally do on a day off in your own apartment, and if you ever want me to leave, just let me know."

Pin pricks went up and down my arms, and I resisted the urge to throw my arms around his neck. "Thank you," I said quietly instead.

"Now for the one rule," he said, his tone serious as he walked over to the one worn-looking piece of furniture in the apartment, throwing his paper on the seat and placing his hands squarely over the seat back. "This is my chair." he said, "You can do anything you want with the rest of the apartment. No one is allowed to touch this chair."

Failing miserably at attempting a straight face, I asked, "Can I _look_ at the chair?"

His smile was beautiful. I was reminded of our easy banter at the office, when we were just friends and not stuck in an impossible situation.

"You can occasionally breathe in its direction," he said, "but looking is limited to forty-five seconds, and only if you bring me a drink while I'm sitting in it."

I laughed loudly, his eyes twinkled, I looked away, a smile still plastered on my face.

What was left of the day was covered in comfortable silence. He spent the evening lounging in _his_ chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up and no tie or shoes. I found my eyes wandering away from the borrowed novel in my lap, paying more attention to his copper hair, his hands, the way his arms flexed as he turned the pages of his book. As I pulled pins out of my hair in preparation for bed, I realized the one thing that I hadn't paid attention to in the room was the chair.

* * *

The rest of the week was bathed in quiet solitude as we enjoyed each other's company and the rare moment of quiet that a "honeymoon" afforded us. There were no illegal calls to be made, no crimes to be committed, no smuggling, no letters to hand anyone over to death. For once, we were free to be ourselves. We were free from the family job. No one called. No one visited. We were secluded in a large city full of people, and though I was chained to Edward on paper, he granted me daily freedom, and I revelled in it.

On Tuesday, I became acquainted with his collection of books, choosing a small stack to take with me to the couch, which I lounged on as though I owned it myself.

For breakfast each morning, he would take me to a new place of my choosing, and we would drink our coffee while he described the drama that was unfolding around us. On Wednesday, I jokingly calling him a "busy body" and teased him that he would call up his girlfriend, Ethel, on the party line, to gossip once we got home. Inwardly, I cringed, knowing I'd called his place "home" but he didn't seem to mind.

On Thursday, he learned that I had no idea how to use the gas oven, as I burned our dinner to cinders. Shivers went down my arm as he leaned around me to quietly and comically inspected the charred mess that I'd left in the baking pan, "Well, maybeーno, it's definitely done," he said. "Fortunately for us, we live in the city, and therefore, do not need to know how to cook. Do you want spaghetti?" I nodded and watched his profile as he picked up the phone on the wall and ordered meals for us and blessedly contained his laughter.

And the nightmares continued, but for the first time in my life, I didn't have to face them alone. In the dark hours of the night, when I was shaken awake by warm hands, I pretended that this would be my life, my normal. I made-believe that he would be there for me any time I opened my eyes. In the back of my mind, though, Carlisle's threat loomed, and the truth that I would destroy Edward's trust in me gnawed at my conscience. He deserved the truth, and I said nothing.

On Saturday, after he'd helped me awaken from another horrible dream, he said, "I'm going to try something." He left me and stood on my mattress, making it dip so heavily with his weight, I almost fell over.

"What are you doing?" I asked as he reached up and pulled the string attached to my overhead light bulb, leaving the room in complete darkness.

"Edwardー"

"I know. It's alright, I'm here." he said, sinking back down to the mattress beside me, lying close. I could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath, "That man who haunted you is gone. I'm here, and you're safe."

He was exhausted. He'd spent the last five nights waking up to my screams and then sleeping the rest of the night in a brightly-lit room. Over the course of a single week, he had become the closest friend I'd ever known. He deserved the truth. Still, I said nothing as he lay close beside me and reached for my hand. I marvelled at how perfectly my hand fit into his.

"Is this alright?" he asked quietly into the darkness.

"Yes," I whispered back, focusing on his warmth instead of the dark and the way my heart was thundering against my rib cage.

I tried to tell myself that he would stay no matter what transpired between usーand the truth ate away at the edges of a heart that was becoming more whole each day.

"I'm sorry, Edward," I whispered into the night, but his deep breaths told me that he was already asleep.

And I didn't love him. I wouldn't allow myself to be that foolish.


End file.
